Two Halves of the Same Tear: Enrapture
by SteinMon1920518
Summary: When the woman spoke on the plane, it changed everything. A single variable that created a never-ending constant. Chained by the same phrase, but lead by a different set of rules; some words change the person they are spoken to. Sometimes, for the better. Sometimes, without knowing why. Sometimes, the reason hasn't happened yet. Rated for Violence, Lang., Blood, Gore, mild Drug use
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Hey guys! SteinMon here with another literary experiment thanks to my friends from reality (yes, I have those) ultimately asking for this (not that they'll read it).

I would like to personally thank Fanfic writers " _misterbubblesishere_ ", " _T.J.98_ ", and " _MartyrFan_ " for their stories. Without them, the synapses in my brain wouldn't have fired in the write order (pun intended).

The story itself is part of a thought I had after my play-through of Burial at Sea part 2, specifically, the causality of entwined events (like Subject Delta and BaS Comstock dying on the same day, New Years Eve 1958. It blew my mind at least!) in conjunction with unexplained ideas that seemed to take root within the series (the quantum entanglement from Bioshock: Infinite being among the main reasons for the Vita-Chambers, or the Protector Bond being derived from Songbird).

My thought, to be blunt, was the Code Yellow - Lot 192 incident. It stood to reason that the WYK-phrase and Code Yellow were not the only conditionings (as it turns out, they were both mental- and Plasmid- induced... go figure). Sooo, yeah, Spoilers! Plus I wanted to see my own take on Jack with a thought process that reflects actual human cognition (instead of the limitations imposed by video games, but hey, that's what Fan-fictions are for). Plus, I _really_ wanted to cover the discrepancies between Bioshock and Bioshock 2 Plasmids and Gene Tonics. Overall, there will be familiar themes and implications, with some original ideas to boot (I hope anyway).

That being said, I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Would you kindly keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that with destructive criticism.

This story is based with the entirety of the series as it's muse, my little moths

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

 **Prologue : A Variable Becomes a Constant; and a Constant Becomes a Variable**

Jack wasn't sure what was going to happen. Sure, it seemed to make sense. Go visit your cousins in England. Cousins he didn't know he had first off; not that he could recall any discussions about his extended family. Hmm? Must have slipped his mind.

The reasoning was also strange. His mother and father didn't seem worried, or in trouble when they had seen him off at the airport. If anything, they looked pleased, or proud. Yet the visit to his undisclosed cousins seemed almost spur of the moment on their parts.

 _"Son, you're special. You're born to do great things."_ Didn't all parents say that to their kids? That was confusing too. They seemed to believe it, but at the same time, it was like they had said it for the first time.

"Ugh," he groaned, leaning back in the first-class seat to close his eyes, the hand holding his open wallet face drooping. And hiding the picture of him and his parents. Despite his seated and comfortable position, he couldn't sleep though. Probably just nerves. The flight's lights were dim, but he could still make out a little girl sleeping soundly next her mother on the inside of the aisle, her little eyes fluttering behind her eyelids in a way that remind Jack of a butterfly. She was dreaming.

He smiled, retrieving out a half-smoked pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and gently popped the butt of one out, pulling it free with his lips. The gentle _click_ of his lighter opening, and the _flick_ of a small flame igniting was mesmerizing. He held it up to light his peace, snapping it shut before putting it away. He inhaled deeply, retrieving the cigarette from his mouth as he flicked away the ash.

Absently, he lifted the package his parents had given him, the card opened in a small display. " _To Jack, With love, From Mom & Dad. Would you kindly not open until: 63" 2' N, 29" 55' W_."

Odd. Truly odd. Where was that anyway? He pulled out a complimentary atlas provided by the airline service. Hmm…. Somewhere in the middle of the sea between Greenland and Iceland, the space in between reminding him of a triangle. That added to the mystery, but… hmm, whatever. He assumed his parents had a good, maybe even special reason for that. He wondered if it had anything to do with the Aurora Borealis that appeared in or near that area of the world. He'd read a book not too long ago about it. Although, where had his parents got that book, and what had spurred him to read it?

Living on a farm came with its shortage of privileges in 1960, sure, but why did he remember that. Huh? He shook his head. It was probably just the nerves of being on a plane for the first time, and the jet-lag that was sure to follow. Yeah. That had to be it.

He glanced down again at the note, shaking his head as he set the gift off to the side again. He was worrying over nothing. He took another inhale from his cigarette. Hmm. They were probably about fifteen minutes out from where his parents asked him not to open the gift.

 _'Twelve minutes, twenty seconds,'_ he thought absently.

He stopped, his tongue perched curiously over his teeth as he ceased his hand from inserting the dart into his mouth once more. That was strange. He had no idea how he knew that… or even why.

 _'I guess I did learn something from Ms. Albreight's class.'_ He was disappointed though. It only took him how many years to apply Geography and Social Studies since high-school. That wasn't even his strongest subject; that had been History. Well, better late than never he supposed. And the distance-over-speed equals time? Wasn't that math and physics? He hadn't been good at those either.

What the f-?

"Mister Wynand?"

He was pulled from his thoughts, only realizing then that he had jumped from fright. God, that was a new feeling. And strange. He didn't startle easily, if his friends back home had anything to say about it. Huh? For some reason he couldn't picture their faces.

"Mmm-hum," he responded as he cleared his throat, looking up to meet the inquirer in question. Whatever social graces had prompted him to clear his throat was gone now, his tongue screeching to firm and utter halt.

Jack would say he had a fair eye for recognizing beautiful dames, both in stature and in personality. Strange though, he couldn't recall being robbed of his voice either. Huh? He kind of liked the thrill of being surprised now, and this lady (because "woman" was now not gracious enough to describe her) had done so twice. Now if only he could open his mouth _and_ speak.

But those eyes held him captive in their blue prison, as if he were slave to the sea far below. He wasn't sure he noticed anything else, but… wow! She was a brunette, her hair brushed out into pin curls. Easily in her early twenties- just like him. Her applications of makeup were light and seemed more for social uniformity than actual necessity. It took him a few more moments to realize she was dressed in the same outfit as one of the few other airlines attendants, complete with a small, slightly crooked cap that he could only describe as "cute".

He also noticed peripherally that she was in a tight knee-length skirt but did his damnedest not to look down at her legs. If there was one thing his _father and mother_ had taught him well, it was to be a man first in all things and following closely to that lesson was to be a gentleman. He'd be damned if he didn't at least attempt to curb his base appetites.

But he immediately went back to her eyes all the same. They were gorgeous. He saw a lot in those eyes. A bright innocence, stern ferocity, laden regrets, burdensome sadness, mystic-like intelligence. But the willfulness in those eyes gave him wonderous pause, like she knew everything she was doing was because she refused to let anyone else make the decision for her; almost… Rebellious. He could see a lot of darkness in those eyes, but she wasn't bad. She had a heart underneath those beautiful sapphire prisms; he could just… sense it. And there was something else-

"Mister Wynand?"

"Oh! Um, sorry. What was that?" he sputtered, blinking a few times as though that would clear his thoughts. The only thing it seemed to clear was his voice, his thoughts still muddled.

She smiled kindly at his stuttering, as though she were accustomed to it. "Code Blue, beginning activation sequence," she stated simply, her smile remaining the whole time, strangely comforting despite her strange words. "Sequence confirmed?"

His head felt fuzzy all of a sudden, his ears ringing, and the air rippling with static. Something wet touched his lip, and he moved to wipe it away, only to see a trail of red. His nose was bleeding. Eyeing the vibrant red on his fingers benignly, he heard himself speak. "Confirmed."

He turned, watching as the flight-attendant's eyes moistened. It was such a sad look. He wanted to reach over and comfort her, but… he couldn't. "Just remember when a dream appears." Her eyes opened and closed a few times as if to blink away the unformed tears, taking a deep breath as a look of determination entered her eyes. She quickly took hold of his hand, her fingers moving from the sinew and muscles cords from the backside of his hand and reaching around to his palm, until nestled in, interlocking their fingers and hands. It was close; intimate.

Almost impulsively, his mouth opened. "You belong to me."

Before he could find the words to express how apologetic he that was that his tongue was running rampant, his mouth filled with different words. "Just remember till your home again." He didn't know why, but he felt a smile touch his face, and even- those were tears trailing down her face.

The stewardess gasped slightly, looking at him with a warm familiarity that made his chest ache. That was new. He had never seen her before. He was positive, and yet- She cupped his cheek with her free hand, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"You belong to me," she whispered back. "Code Blue, activate."

His hand clenched around hers as his body erupted in agony. He couldn't scream; but it hurt all the same. Every vein pulsed like liquid fire. Every breath stung his lungs like ice. If he could claim awareness so deep, he might think that his cells were screaming in agony as every nerve seemed to both tense and loosen all at once. His eyes spared a glance to his empty hand, watching as a gentle orange glow shone through the veins visible in his hands and wrists.

"Shhh," the lady soothed, no passenger seeming to take notice of them as she continued to hold his hand. The pain was subsiding, even as she gently brushed his face. "Until we meet again."

The pain finally relieved, he blinked, and she was gone; only the ghost of her hand in his, and her hand against his cheek. His head shot between the aisles, looking both toward the cabin and the tail end of the plane. She was just… gone. And he- what happened?!

He slumped back in his seat in confusion, a small fraction of time seemingly missing from his memory. He looked down at his hand. There was blood? _And_ it was dripping onto his sweater! He grumbled, picking up a napkin to try and get as much of it off as possible. Gah, his mother had bought him this for Christmas!

He sighed in resignation. He'd just have to get it dry-cleaned. Accidents happened after all.

No, something was wrong. His hand brushed his face, feeling a damp across his cheek. He was crying. His mother had told him tears were for good dreams, so he must have had a good dream. It must have been a dream. Yeah… that must have been it. Shaking it off and dabbing his nose to wipe the blood away, he leaned back, smiling as a wordless melody crossed his mind.

It was a sad and mournful tune, but somehow hopeful.

He began to hum it, his chest reverberating gently as he breathed with the wordless lyrics. It didn't take long before he settled into a comfortable content, made more so by a lingering warmth on his cheek, and the tightness in his hand. He might just get some sleep on this flight after all.

 _'Times up!'_ a thought sparked. No, he couldn't sleep!

He gently picked up the gift off to his left, eyeing the letter once again. Something felt wrong, but at the same time, he didn't seem to mind. It felt like a good time to open it. So he did.

An elegant bow, good paper wrapping, the packaging was interesting. _'What's the special occasion?'_ he wondered.

"Um?" he voiced to himself. Inside was pistol. A six-cylinder revolver. He quickly checked up and down the aisle, making sure no one noticed it. "What the fuck?" Why the Hell was there a gun? Why had they wanted him to open it here? Was there anything else?

His fingers sifted through the package, finding another piece of paper right under the revolver. Gingerly, he pulled it up, glancing over the lettering.

 _Would you kindly hijack this plane and crash it into the ocean. -FF_

 _P.S. Toss this note to the side and forget you read this_

Almost fluidly, Jack pushed the package off to the side, his breath quickening. His hand shook as it took the revolver in hand. He wasn't afraid; if anything, he was numb as he stood up, swing his aim toward a stewardess at the front. He felt half a lurch in his chest before realizing it wasn't _her_ \- Who?

Then, he didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

He might have taken the time to notice her head whipping back, and a spray of blood streaking the plane wall behind her, but he didn't mind. He was numb. He was quick, methodical. The screams of passengers didn't bother him, nor did the pleas to God or himself.

His neck bristled as he felt something behind him, swing around to meet it.

 _'What?'_ Half a moment of clarity.

It was her. At the end of the barrel, the flight attendant, the one who…Who? His head rang again as he felt his nose begin to bleed once more, his aim seeming to shake for a moment from a muscle tremor.

But, it wasn't her. She looked roughly the same, save for the blood-stained and dirty blouse, the torn fishnet stockings, and… was that blood drying from around her eye. She looked like she had been through hell. She was holding what looked like a piece of paper. This time, there were no kind words, only patience as she looked down the gun-barrel, and right into his eyes, like she could see his future and where it led. He broke away first, looking down to wipe away his nose, he looked back up, and she was gone, the paper floating down to the plane's floor as though it had been dropped. The note from his parents.

Jack suddenly lurched as someone carried into him from the side, attempting to arrest the gun from his hand. Unfortunately, Jack was quicker. The butt of the gun met the side of a man's head as he was pistol-whipped back into his seat as Jack made his way closer to the front of plane.

Why had he frozen, staring down the barrel at nothing? He couldn't remember. He felt he should, but for some reason, it was like something was missing from the interaction. Or someone. But no. He was numb.

He pushed forward. He was uninterrupted after a second attempt to stop him ended with the brains of another passenger were sprayed all over the woman who had sat next to the now deceased. One hand gripped the handle of the cabin door as he began to try and open it.

"Do you think he noticed?"

"Probably not. Neither of her were able to do it subtly."

"Contrary-wise, perhaps he _will_. In time. The fact she didn't do it subtly either time suggests there was a meaningful interaction. It's a part of him now, whether he knows it or not."

"Hmm. Indeed. Perhaps that will drive him."

"The interaction?"

"No. The not knowing. It's terrible not to know. So many questions."

"But so few like the answers."

"Indeed."

Jack turned, looking at two front seat passengers. If there was anything that _should_ have knocked him out of his numbed state, it was these two. A man and a woman, like two sides of the same coin. Both held well-groomed auburn hair; curious, calculating eyes, as though both of them were gambling the exact nature of how he would die. The man was a few inches taller than the woman, but both were impeccably dressed in duck-yellow raincoats that were oddly enough, soaked.

"Oh. There now, you see? He noticed us," the man commented off handedly.

"Noticed us? Or our unconventional attire?" the woman shot back without missing a beat.

"Perhaps both? He's a little out of it."

"Probably won't remember a thing."

"Not yet. But the weight of his undeserved sins might cripple him," the man finished.

"Perhaps so."

"So what do you think of this experiment, sister?"

"Interesting. Nothing's changed."

"He did bleed."

"Yes, but he immediately forgot."

"His reaction was shocking."

"That I concur," the woman agreed. "In his proper place, in his proper time, in his proper universe. And yet he reacted as though it wasn't."

"He did hold her hand. And he didn't pull the trigger on her."

"Perhaps feeling something that wasn't there."

"Do you suppose they're attracted to each other?"

"Like animals, or like magnets?"

"Like a gravity well," the male answered. "Inexplicably pulling together across time and space, whether they realize it or not. Causality across causality all eventually converging on a single universe."

The woman broke habit and glanced at the male next to her, eyeing him suspiciously. "That sounds preposterously close to talk of fate, brother. If there's one thing we might have learned across the cosmos, it's that choice branches out in an infinite number of ways. Nothing is ever _meant_ to happen."

"And yet," he countered, "this universe is feeding off of itself. One cause leads to the past, and the past to the future, and the future to the present. It's quite a pickle."

"It also intertwines with another universe, feeding off of the reoccurring events that bind them together."

"A universe simultaneously feeding off of the causality that keeps itself consistent in a period of time the emulates a never-ending cycle, and the trigger event brought on from a separate universe," the male concluded. "She created a pickle indeed. I think it's safe to say, the circle is broken."

The numb haze Jack was in, didn't stop a bolt of confusion from hitting him in the face. Had he been conscious enough to understand any of that, he still wouldn't have understood a word of it. Their nonchalance might have also bothered him, but he was numb, and it was all a haze. Continuing unaffected, it took less effort than anticipated to force open the door. He didn't blink as he shot both pilots in rapid succession, the plane instantly beginning to nose dive, passenger screams intensifying as they leaned into the plane's joysticks limply. Jack quickly pulled pilot out of the way, righting the plane quickly as he kept their decent steady.

"So what do you think of it?" the woman began.

"Of what?"

"She turned a constant into a variable-"

"-And a variable into a constant."

"We've never done that."

"Probably because we didn't know what would happen."

"Or we were afraid to find out."

The male made an unnatural attempt to smile. "There's always a lighthouse-"

"-There's always a man-" the woman agreed.

"-There's always a city," they chorused ritualistically. Those things _never_ changed. They were the immovable constants. Oh, but how the constants and variables had shifted. Just another universe in play.

And with that, the plane groaned as it hit the water, the shock of impact splitting it in half, and began flooding it almost immediately. Jack smashed into the console, rendering himself unconscious.

As the plane began to take on water, the Luteces simply looked at each other amidst the screams of passengers trying to unbuckle themselves. As it stood, all would die of drowning. All but one. _That_ wouldn't change either.

"What do you think, brother?"

"Perhaps we should stick around," he answered, glancing down at the rapidly sinking seats they inhabited. "Not here of course, but still, I should like to see what changes."

"I don't think much will."

"But much might. If it does, how much will be altered?"

"And how will that change him?"

"And her?"

"Precisely."

"Sister?"

"Yes, brother?"

"I don't know why, but I jovially look forward to the outcome."

"Well aren't you the kind one."

By the time they finished, the water had risen over their heads. A moment of buoyancy pushed the plane back toward the surface, revealing the "Twins" absence from where they had once sat.

And with that, the water rushing in slipped Jack from the seat of the cockpit, slowly pulling him down with the plane.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** **Would You Kindly Read & Review! :)** (I know, that is so overused, but it's still funny to me!)

And with that, it's going to be a beautiful day. As with all my other stories right now, I have no idea how often I'll be posting or if I'll finish it at all. Mostly, I just want to see how well this is received. I've been stewing on this story for a while, and finally saw to putting it to words in a moment of writers block. The concept is following that there were other contingencies placed within Jack, specifically the aforementioned "Code Blue Sequence". There is a reason I thought of this one specifically, though what it's effect is and why it was made into an activation sequence instead of a simple phrase will be explored later. Much later. Spoilers and all!

Take care, and don't forget to Review! Let me know your Questions, Comments, and Concerns (QCC) :)

Until next time. _Chapter 1: Another Long Dive_. Maybe a P.S. like " _In a tank of sharks_ ". I don't know, we'll see.


	2. Chapter 1: Another Long Dive

**A/N:** SteinMon here again.

I just started replaying _Bioshock_ for reference, and it was fun to imagine role-playing Jack with his first encounters.

 _ **Review Responses:**_

\- Childatheart28: Thank you for being the first Reviewer! While Code Blue won't be directly explored for a while, I guarantee there will be hints towards its effects throughout. Ah! The Luteces. They're easily my favorite encountered NPC in the whole Bioshock series. :)

 ***End of Responses**

Disclaimer: I forgot this during the Prologue, but I don't own the Bioshock series. That privilege belongs to the developers: 2K Boston, 2K Australia, and Irrational Games; as well as the publisher: 2K Games. Take a good, long look, because I won't be re-posting this.

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Another Long Dive (Complete with Orientation!)**

The first thing he noticed was that he felt weightless as began to wake up. The second was that he had just inhaled a lung-full of water. He half-choked a gargle, the muffled sound giving rise to panic as he floundered, even as he realized that he didn't know which way was up or down. He felt as though he were fading in and out of consciousness, though in reality, he was only blinking. The water stung his eyes as he tried to find his way, bubbles and displaced water floating around him.

Until he noticed the shoe rising. No, not rising… sinking.

Now knowing which way was up, he twisted over, met by the floral design of purse sinking, along with whatever valuables its owner had held dear. He turned upward, met by more luggage as he began to swim up toward some strange orange light on the surface. He flinched as he heard the slicing _Whizzzz!_ of one of the planes engine blades shoot by. Ten feet over, and he might have been sliced in half.

Trying to push further he was greeted by the cockpit of the plane. He followed it's decent. How did it sink so fast? In matter of seconds it had already sank into the abyssal dark below.

His lungs screamed for air, his chest heavy with nothing but water. Every time his hands grasped for the surface, a close-mouthed gag of panic screamed in his throat. His vision was beginning to get blurry as he continued to claw against the water. He wanted to breathe! He didn't want to die suffocating! He couldn't imagine a worse death than the lull of drowsiness that was beginning to darken everything.

He shook his head quickly, trying to stave off falling asleep in the dark, tranquil arms of the bottomless ocean.

One might expect that the first sound that came from Jack when he broke the waters surface would have been gasps of relief as he sucked in the cool night air. Instead, the sounds of choking and coughing proceeded undeterred as he first expelled the water from his lungs, before attempting to fill his lungs with air. But the liquid mass exiting his chest initiated his gag-reflex, causing him to heave violently before he could inhale.

Finally! One half-breath before he began coughing and sputtering again. He barely managed to keep treading water, even as he greedily began drinking in the air. It was warmer than he anticipated, but that was only because the orange lights he had seen below were flames dancing along the water. He turned around in the water, eyeing a portion of the wreckage.

 _'_ _Oh my God!'_ he thought weakly, unable to speak as he continued panting. _'What happened?!'_ The last thing he remembered was looking at his wallet and the gift his parents had given him.

As he pondered his predicament among the slowly rising heat of the plane's burning fuel, still facing the plane's crumpled body, he swore he heard voices. Shouts, shrieks, panic, pain in the plane's sinking frame of a pyre. His breath quickened as he began swimming toward it, only to immediately pull back as the scalding temperatures burned him.

"Agh!" he cried, backpedaling as he watched helplessly. "Hello, is anyone there?" he rasped weakly, his throat still raw from exhaling the salt water. No one heard him.

Maybe there were others who had made it into the water! If so, it wouldn't do any good to stay where he was. He turned back around, carefully and slowly swimming as close as he dare along the fire-line. With his luck, he just had to surface right in the middle of all the burning debris. No sooner had he spotted the tail of the plane, a line of fire shot across the waters surface, following an invisible trail of fuel until it all ignited, creating a wall between him and the open ocean.

He shivered as he saw the bubbling from around the tail, it's dorsal still blinking a red light, cringing as he heard the groan of the siding met his ears. He couldn't help but imagine the morbid image that the bubbles were some of the passengers last breaths.

But what caught his attention, just to the right of the plane's tail and past the wall of flames, was the last thing he expected in the middle of the ocean. A lighthouse. A bloody, friggin' lighthouse. But Jack didn't complain, especially when he saw a lit path of stairs at the base of the water. That meant he could get out of the water. He redoubled his efforts as he made straight for it, grateful for the small surge of strength the hope of solid ground gave him.

It was with trembling legs, shivering arms, and chattering teeth that he met the imposing tower, taking his first steps up. The cool night sub-arctic air didn't help. As soon as he had completely exited the water, he sat down, wrapping his arms around his chest, stuffing his hands under his armpits as he looked out toward the wreckage.

Finding his voice after a moment of repose, he called out. "Hello?! Can anyone hear me?! Is anyone out there?!" Still panting, he waited, cocking his head slightly to distinguish between the sounds. All he could catch was the sound of his heavy breaths and the lapping on waves on the stone structure.

He waited. And waited. And called out. And waited some more. The only significant passage of time was when the plane's tail finally sank. Nothing. No one. He didn't know how long he had sat there, shivering, hoping beyond all hope now, that someone, anyone else had survived.

 _'_ _Wait, this is a lighthouse. There might be someone inside who can help!'_ he thought, cursing himself that it hadn't occurred to him sooner.

As fast as he dared, he moved to his feet, climbing the last few steps. Already, he could see that his idea was less than plausible. The imposing stronghold of stone, with its gentle glowing orb atop its sky-held peak; and one of its bronze-colored doors was standing wide open. If he weren't so dejected that his moment of illumination was now rather dim, he might have noticed that the lights that walked the path weren't lit by flame; or perhaps the sigil above the door. But no, he just hobbled inside, glad that at least the seemingly abandoned structure acted as a windbreak against the sea air. If anyone survived, hopefully they were smart enough to swim toward the lighthouse, but as it stood, there was nothing more he could do but wait.

No sooner had he stepped inside the darkened abode, he heard the creak of rusted metal as the doors shut behind him of their own volition, casting him in complete darkness. He rushed back, pounding on the door to open.

Light suddenly ignited behind him, causing him to freeze, as though he were caught red-handed in the beam of a policeman's club-like torch. He swallowed, half-expecting someone to call out. Nothing. Breathing deeply, he turned around.

An enormous bronze bust of a man gazed down at him, as if it were an Olympian, measuring his worth and meddle. Underneath it, a gold-lettered red banner read "No gods or kings. Only Man."

 _'_ _A bit presumptuous,'_ Jack chuckled to himself, a shivered smile of relief gracing his features. But that relief was short lived. There were no stairs leading up to the lighthouse nest, only a plaque, and what he presumed were stairs leading down, if the large railed off round in the center was anything to judge by.

He approached the plaque, curious about it. Who would build a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean? _'Someone rich? Someone crazy?'_ Jack wondered before reading aloud, "In what country is there a place for people like me? -Andrew Ryan." For some reason that name rang a bell. Maybe he was someone important stateside.

He was half-tempted to wait, to see if anyone would show up. But his curiosity was like an itch; damned near impossible not to scratch. He walked around the center round, toward the stairs in the back, greeted by the ignition of more lights and the soft sounds of "Somewhere Beyond the Sea", playing by recorded violin. He followed their path down, until he came to a roughly circular room with the round above at its center, with three plaques: "Art", "Science", and "Industry". They all centered around a bronze sphere sitting atop the water.

There was a lever in the center of the sphere. "I sure as Hell hope you open that door back up," he muttered. Without out much more initiative than that, he wrapped his hand around the lever, and pulled.

Something creaked and closed behind him, causing him to bolt around. A porthole greeted him. "Fuck! Next time Jack, check to make sure you're not walking into something that's just going to close and lock on ya," he criticized out of panic. Fooled him once, shame on… the lighthouse? Or it's owner. Fooled him twice, shame on him. A third time was _not_ going to happen again. Even as he contemplated this, the sphere began to lower into the water.

"No! Nonono!" But down he went, staring out the porthole as he sank. A sign passed, reading "10 Fathoms" followed by some strange statue of a man. How deep was that? "18 Fathoms". Deeper and deeper still.

Something slid in front of his view, a projector light shining on it, with the image of what he assumed was a lighthouse… or maybe _thee_ lighthouse from above? Following quickly was a chime with what appeared to be an advertisement.

"Fire at your Fingertips!" he read aloud, his eyebrow cocking. "Incinerate. Plasmids by Ryan Industries." He snorted. "Yeah, that'll be the day."

The screen changed just as he finished, displaying a lounging man who had posed with his pipe. "From the desk of Ryan."

 _"_ _I am Andrew Ryan, and I'm here to ask you a question: Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? No, says the man in Washington. It belongs to the poor. No, says the man in the Vatican, it belongs to God. No, says the man in Moscow. It belongs to everyone._

 _"_ _I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible…."_

"Well bully for you," Jack grumbled, not really caring one way or another. The slideshow images had made the man's point well enough, but he wasn't there for a movie or a lesson. He had just pulled a lever to open a door so he could leave. And… now he was sinking. He'd just escaped that fate, too.

 _"…_ _I chose… Rapture."_ The projector screen lowered, revealing something Jack never would have imagined in his wildest rural farm-boy dreams. A city. Not just a city. A city underwater.

"Holy- FUCK!" he said with a start as some creature with multiple legs jetted by, startling him.

 _"_ _A city where the artist would not fear the censor,"_ the recording went on, undeterred by his outburst. The sphere continued along the city, amazing Jack more and more with every bit of it he saw. Not just the city, but the life underwater as well. _"Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small. And with the sweat of_ your _brow, Rapture can become your city as well."_

That note finished in the wake another strange statue. As the sphere continued along, Jack saw… yeah, there was someone in one of the glass tunnels. There were people! He could explain what happened above. Get help! It seemed things were looking up… metaphorically speaking.

Even as this thought crossed his mind, he turned slightly, glimpsing the enormity of another underwater creature. A blue whale swimming along. Jack couldn't help but press his nose to the glass, trying to get a better look at it as the beast swam underneath him. His eyes beheld it with the sheer wonder of a child. It was… beautiful.

 _"_ _-But the lighthouse is lit up like hellfire…. "_ Jack turned toward a radio to the side as soon as he heard it, forgetting all about the view outside. A voice? People. He was saved! _"Looks like some sort of plane crash."_

 _"_ _We're in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean,"_ another voice answered. _"How could it?"_

 _'_ _Welcome to my world,'_ Jack thought sarcastically, though it did strike a pained note inside of him. If someone else did survive, they would be locked out in the cold. And the thought that there _were_ survivors immediately reminded him that some _hadn't_.

 _"_ _Dunno. You best get over, and be quick about it. The Splicers are coming."_

 _'_ _Who are The Splicers?'_ Jack wondered. It _was_ a city, and the _The_ made it sound exclusive. Maybe it was a club, or gang. He heard cities had gangs, and he had heard about book clubs. So… maybe? He wasn't sure where he had heard it though.

Even as he wondered, he turned to see the sphere was coming into dock, but the look of the circular tubes he was going through that were lit up like a slogan. "All Good Things- Of This Earth- Flow- Into the City."

 _"_ _You've gotta be kidding me! How do you know someone's even coming?"_

 _"_ _Because we've gotta Bathysphere on its way down. That means we've got company."_

The radio made small disconnect sound as the sphere settled in the bowels of a building, and began to slowly rise. Jack wasn't sure what to expect of such a beautiful city. He thought he saw some propaganda or advertisements on his way in, but he wasn't paying attention. Something one of the men had said, or maybe it was the way he said it. Jack didn't know why, but it made him nervous, like he shouldn't know what to expect.

The radio crackled back on a minute later. _"O-okay just one more minute… The 'Sphere'- the 'Sphere is coming up now."_

 _"_ _Johnny, security's bangin' all over. Get a move on!"_

The sphere had risen to it's resting spot, and it wasn't at all what Jack had expected. It was dark. Really dark. In the dim of one of the blinking lights, he could make out a figure, and the sound of a woman humming, as though she were idly working in the kitchen.

"Please lady. I didn't mean no trespass. Just don't hurt me!" The figure had backed up almost completely to the sphere, and Jack only then noticed how shallow his breath had become, how quickly his heart was beating. He was terrified, and he was starting to see why. Another figure was slouched over as it walked toward the terrified voice

"Just let me go!" the figure, which Jack could see was a man, sobbed. "You can keep my gun. You can-"

The slouched figure pounced, slashing something Jack couldn't see in the blinking lights across the man's abdomen, cutting off his voice with weak cry. In the next moment, the man was pressed up against the glass, his scream dying into a sickening gurgle as something finished by slashing across his throat, sending a splash of blood streaking across the porthole.

 _'_ _Oh! God!'_ Jack bit his tongue to keep from making any noise, hoping that that… person? … wouldn't notice him. A deep, raspy breathing grew heavy just outside the sphere, a silhouette just barely outlined. A single blink of light gave it form, but that was all Jack needed to see. What he did see was grotesque, malformed, disgusting. And it's weapons, a large hook in each hand. Jack could only imagine what it used those for, and he was regretting even thinking about it.

The… creature… seemed to be looking at the porthole, as if expecting something to happen. "Is it someone new?" it – whether it was a man or woman, Jack didn't care – seemed to inquire, before shrieking almost madly at the only layer separating him and it. It jumped to the side, making small grunts of exertion has it climbed.

All at once, the sphere began to creak and rock violently, Jack's arms shooting out to steady himself against the side. That… thing… out there was screaming and shrieking, clearly frustrated that he was so well protected, and for a moment, Jack was glad for that too.

 _'_ _Fuckin' Hell,'_ he thought, not daring to raise his voice with it out there. _'What did I walk in on?! Where the Hell am I?!'_

It stopped with the creature jumping off out in front of the porthole, turning to look back at him with what Jack assumed to be an irritated face.

 _"_ _Would you kindly pick up that shortwave radio?"_

With a hiss, Jack turned back in time to see it jump away, like it was fucking frog.

"Wha- wha- what the Hell?" he breathed, fingers trembling as he half-hazily reached up to grab the communications device.

 _"_ _I don't know how you survived that plane crash, but I've never been one to question Providence._ _I'm Atlas, and I aim to keep you alive."_

Jack swallowed slightly. He didn't like the sounds of that. Not one bit. Just what the Hell did he – quite literally – crash into? He gingerly pressed down the call button on the radio. "I'm- I'm Jack. Wish I could say "nice to meet you"."

 _"_ _Good. Ya got a sense of humor. You'll need that to keep from goin' mad. We'll exchange pleasantries later, right now ya need to keep on moving. We're gonna have to get you to higher ground."_

The porthole opened, instantly alerting Jack that he was now open and vulnerable.

 _"_ _Take a deep breath and step out of the bathysphere."_

Jack did as suggested. "Okay," he breathed, glancing across at the empty hall and the glass windows providing a view of the outside underwater city. His ears were met only with the slush of water, and a raspy voice that immediately sent a chill up his spine. "Um, Atlas, one of those… things. I hear it."

 _"_ _Don't worry boyo, I won't leave you twisting in the wind. But we're gonna need to draw her out of hiding. Your gonna have to trust me."_

The cut-off sound didn't bode well for Jack as he gingerly took steps forward toward the windows. To the right was a pile of luggage, and some weird tube. The only way to go was left and up some stairs by the looks of it.

"I'll wrap you in a sheet," the raspy voice echoed from seemingly everywhere.

 _'_ _Nope! No! Nonononono!'_ Jack cringed as he began moving a little faster up the stairs, only to enter a near dark room with only a very weak blinking light. As soon as he began to step out, one of the lights exploded, bathing the room in deeper darkness. _'Shit!'_

He immediately crouched behind some of the luggage. Waiting. Listening.

 _"_ _Just a little bit further,"_ Atlas's voice whispered. When he heard nothing more, he moved on, spying a hall to move down. He wasn't more than a couple feet in when he saw a silhouette drop from the ceiling, the outline of hooks incredibly prominent.

"Atlas!"

A beam of light shined on it, and a strange beeping sound came up from behind Jack. He turned to see a box with rotors flying after the creature, firing a spray of bullets at it until it jumped onto the wall and climbed out of sight. _"How do you like that sister?"_ Atlas taunted from the radio.

Jack was having a heart attack. He wasn't more than a few steps in, and he already felt like death would be kinder. "Thanks for the save," he breathed into the device.

 _"_ _No problem. Now would you kindly grab a crowbar or something? Bloody Splicer sealed Johnny in before they… goddamned Splicers."_

Jack wanted to apologize for his friend, but it would be a vain apology. There was nothing he could have done, so he'd just have to try and do better with the things he could do. First off, not dying. Conveniently, a crowbar or "something" wasn't hard to find with a camera's light shining right down on it. A pipe wrench. Jack weighed it in his hand. It felt kind of light for some reason. He gave it a good swing or two, as if he were a kid playing the knight in shining armor, wielding a stick as though it were a sword. Hmm. He'd keep an eye out for something heavier. Meanwhile the only way out was right past some debris.

"Well, no time like the present." He swung with all his might. The rubble must have been really worn down, because it turned to dust in an instant. He gingerly swung underneath it to get a view of something burning at the top of the stairs.

Someone let out a pitiable cry, and said burning "something" was kicked down the stairs at Jack. Before he could comprehend what he was doing, he swung the wrench backhanded at the object, smashing it against the stairwell wall before it could hit him. Evidently it was an old couch, and its frame was little more than splinters now, at best.

He looked down at his newfound weapon, feeling something akin to pride toward the plumbers tool. "I think this is the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship."

"Don't run!" Jack heard at the top of the stairs, seeing one of those… Splicers? Atlas had called them. It began bolting down the stairs toward him with a wrench like his held overhead, prepared to swing down on him. Jack moved again, swinging his new friend at the Splicer's knee cap with a _Crack!_ Jack flinched at the sound, following the return swing to bring against the side of the Splicers head before he could cry out. The skull caved in, causing Jack to recoil in surprise at the explosion of fractured cranial bone, goop, and blood all mixed together.

"Oh God!" His hand was shaking, gaping at the blood and grey matter-slicked wrench in his hands. He turned to the side, heaving violently as the peanuts he'd eaten on the plane suddenly came up, splashing chunkily on the stairs. Shivering in revulsion, he leaned against the wall to steady himself, his stomach still churning.

He'd just killed someone. Granted, it was a life-or-death situation, and given the chance, Jack didn't think he would make a different choice. He knew that logically. But still. His hands were spotted red and trembling, and the hem of his sweater was splattered. He took a deep breath to steady himself, exhaling shakily. He wasn't sure if it was the death itself, or the fact that said death ended in a mess of gore.

"Come on Jack," he gasped, trying to push himself forward with steeling words, and hoping it would be enough. If he made it out of this… well, he'd think of something worthwhile to promise.

A small chime knocked him out of his shell-shock. _"My daddy is_ Smarter _than Einstein,_ Stronger _than Hercules, and lights a fire with a_ Snap _of his finger! Are you as good as my daddy, Mister. Not if you don't visit the Gatherer's Garden you aren't! Smart daddies get spliced, at the Gardens!"_

 _'_ _What the fuck?'_ At the top of the stairs was a windowed view of the city. With door jam ahead. When Jack approached, it grinded, but didn't open. The chime, however, started up again, just up the stairs above where he had entered. As he went along the undamaged stairs, there was a blaringly bright neon sign that blinked.

"That's one way to get someone's attention. Plasmids, huh?" Suddenly, mocking that advertisement in the bathysphere didn't seem relevant. If he could really do what it said….

At the top, he found what was making the chiming. A vending-type looking machine with a pink neon "Gatherer's Garden" – if it wasn't self-explanatory enough – with two big-headed statues of what might have been little girls on each side. What Jack didn't understand was why they had put mushrooms around the statue's feet. Wouldn't a better promotional display be, flowers or something?

 _'_ _Unless they're trying to send me down the rabbit hole to Wonderland,'_ he thought. When was the last time he read that book?

The next thing that concerned him was the vial and needle that stood blatantly out in the open. "It's clearly a trap," he reasoned aloud. _'But what if it isn't?'_ "Well usage is self-explanatory." _'But then again, who would just leave it out here all prepared?'_ "I really shouldn't." _'But I need the edge. Think about it: Fire at your fingertips.'_

Sighing at his own losing battle, he picked up the vial and the needle. The vial was a blood red, and the needle looked surprisingly clean. But still. He walked down the stairs back toward the burning couch. It never hurt to be safe. He carefully sterilized the needle over the open flame, doing his best not to burn himself. Once that was done and he had returned back to the common floor, Step Two was easy enough. Extract vial liquid into syringe? Check. Step Three was another matter. While Jack would never say he was afraid of needles, that was a… _really_ big one. He rolled up his sleeve, not sure exactly how to do the injection.

"Come on Jack. Like a bandage. Besides, I might not need a lighter to light my cigarettes if I do. With just a _Snap_ of my finger," he quoted, suddenly hating how catchy that jingle was. Gritting his teeth in preparation, he grunted as he plunged the needle straight into his upper forearm. Oh God, it hurt! Not as bad as breathing in sea water. This was actually a cake-walk by comparison. Now he just had to push down on the injection. Breathing once again, and not wanting his arm to stay sore, he pressed it down all at once, yanking the syringe away quickly.

The effects were immediate. His vision swam with red, as he felt whatever he had injected himself snake into his veins like venom. It hurt, like someone had run him over with a tractor. His vision cleared slightly, and he noticed that a blue glow was coursing through the veins of his wrist, spreading.

"Agh!" he gritted to himself, sounds like bones popping crackled through his hand as it seemed to contort of its own volition. It kept spreading and spreading, until even his ribs seemed to creak under the weight of the injection. "Make it stop!" he couldn't help it as he cried out in anguish.

 _"_ _Steady now boyo! Your genetic code is being rewritten. Just hold on and everything will be fine!"_ Atlas more-or-less encouraged….

…Right before Jack started shooting arcs of electricity from his hands, his body abuzz with power. He kneeled over onto the ground, the pain eventually causing spots along his vision; right before he felt weightless again, and passed out.

* * *

Footsteps.

Jack felt his lids begin to open, noticing that his cheek was floor-bound, and the smell of the salt musty carpet was not something he preferred to drowsily wake up to. There were two people standing over him from what he could tell. Even though he knew that, his cognition wasn't really up for processing the significance of their presence. He felt like his insides had gone through an industrial grinder, an incinerator, and just for good measure, was pissed on by his Pap's ol' mule, Samuel. Then said remains of insides were stuffed back into him.

One of the figures bent down, cocking his head slightly to reveal a white rabbit mask.

 _'_ _Ugh, down the rabbit hole indeed,'_ he groaned internally. _'Just need to find a Hatter, a Red Queen, and some Tweedle Twins. Although, maybe the twins are the Garden.'_

"This little fish looks like he just got his cherry _Popped_. Wonder if he's still got some ADAM on him?" Splicers. He could tell by the voice. Somewhat raspy and distant. It didn't help that the Splicer was rummaging through his empty pockets. Well, there was his wallet. His cigarettes had been in his jacket which was now down with the plane. His parent's gift was sunk now too. That sucked. But as for his pockets? Nope, just his wallet. He was so tired, his thoughts were all a-jumble.

He began to close his eyes again. Maybe if he did that, they would go away.

" _Mmmmrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaah!_ "

 _'_ _Yep, I'm awake!'_ he thought as his eyes shot back open. Who needed a rooster on the farm when he had whatever had made that noise, to keep him company?

"You hear that?" the Splicer not looting his pockets said, looking around nervously. "Let's bug." And he bolted off.

"Weak! You're a weak chopper!" the first taunted, shooting to his feet angrily.

"This little fish ain't worth toeing it with no Big Daddy!" the other explained, his footsteps receding.

"Yellow!" the first called out. "Always have been!" With a clank of what looked like an old piece of pipe, the rabbit Splicer knelt down next to him. "You'll be better no off with the metal daddy, little fish. See you floating in the briny!"

No. Not yet. He was still so tired. He closed his eyes again, hoping he would wake up better than he had.

" _Mmmmrrraaaaaah!_ "

He was awake again, this time greeted by the sound of massive foot steps and… what the Hell was that! What little of his befuddled brain was working tried to command his body to move just a little bit, to get away, to run. But that only seemed to knock him back out of it.

Another groan woke him from his ill-fated slumber. If it could be called "slumber" at that point. Only this time, he was greeted by what looked like a bare-footed little girl in a dirty dress with skin the color of lead, and glowing yellow eyes.

 _'_ _I'm never taking another Plasmid again,'_ he vowed weakly. He was either helpless or hallucinating. If he was this helpless every time he got a Plasmid – seeing as how he assumed there was more than just lighting fires and shooting electricity – then the risk outweighed the cost. If he was hallucinating… then he preferred not to see all of this again. Not to mention he'd have to stick himself with a big needle every time.

Speaking of needles, that little girl was carrying one. A really big one that looked about as long as her forearm, with a small glowing red jar on the end of it. He was too out of it to get much details, but he was _really_ hoping this was a hallucination.

"Look Mister Bubbles, it's an angel," the little girl said in a voice that seemed to resonate and droned slightly, giving it a mild distant hum with every word. "I can see light, coming from his belly." She moved closer to him, the needle she carried inching closer and closer.

"Wait a minute!" The little girl stepped back, looking at him again. "He's still breathing. It's alright, I know he'll be an angel soon."

He began to fade again, even as the girl and that… thing that sounded like a whale, began to walk away.

He didn't know how long he'd been out this last time, but thankfully, that's what it was: the last time. He strained as he got to his feet, his body still wracked with a ghost of pain. Absently, he turned to look up at the balcony above. Thankfully he hadn't been up there. That would have been a real shit fall.

 _"_ _Are you alright boyo?"_ Jack groaned in response. _"Yeah, I know, first time Plasmids is a real kick from a mule."_ If said mule included multi-eyed giants, ghoulish little girls, and every bone in his body feeling like it was cracking, then yes, it was a mule. _"But there's nothing like a fist-full of lightning, now, is there?"_

Jack looked down at his hands. They looked normal, minus the blood. So how was he supposed to use it? He didn't know, and he didn't suppose the learning curve was promising if he decided to wing it. He looked down at his bare hands, catching a glimpse of the tattoos on each wrist. He couldn't remember where or when he had gotten them; it had either been so long ago, or it just wasn't that significant a memory. But he knew why. That much was etched into his being. He had chains, but that didn't mean he was shackled. He was bound, but that didn't mean he didn't roam free. A paradox that embodied what he felt like as a human. A cage of flesh where his heart and mind were free as a bird.

Maybe the Plasmid was the same way. It was a storm bound to his body just as he was bound to his body, confined underneath the skin. And just like him, it only needed to be let loose. Whatever this underwater world was, it wouldn't wait for him to understand. It would kill him as soon as look at him. Just like the Splicer whose body was laying on the stairs. If he hesitated, he would die.

So here, in this beautiful, terrible city, Jack Wynand felt the chains of his restraint, and his inhibition release from his shoulders like weight. He wanted to live. And to do that, he might have to stick a needle in his arm a few more times. He might have to bash in a few more skulls. But even Jack knew there was a limit to edging toward a cliff before one went over the edge. The question was, did he know where to draw the line?

It was then he felt it. In both his hands, a small storm buzzed and crackled, blue sparks dancing on his fingertips. "Yeah," he responded belatedly to no one, "nothing like a handful of storms."

He quietly retrieved his pipe wrench, turning off the power long enough to pick up the remnants of the Plasmid vial – considering it was still more than half-full – and the needle – for sanitation purposes should he have need to reuse it. Luckily for him, those Splicers had been in such a hurry to leave, they had left behind an empty leather shoulder bag. Stowing his acquired items away in it and pulling it onto his shoulder, he reignited the arcs of his hand, eyeing the sparking control panel of the door ahead. Unexpectedly, the reactivated arcs reached out like tendrils against his thoughts, making slight hums as they connected with solid surfaces, like buzzing music notes

"Lets see what you can do," he challenged to himself, lifting his hand out.

He was the survivor of a plane crash, and through a series of events that he still didn't understand, he was now in a city at the bottom of the ocean. In the back of his mind, Jack was sure that a normal person wouldn't be taking this all in stride, but what choice did he have if he wanted to see the sun again? If he wanted to return to the surface? All he wanted to do was get home, hug his Ma and Pa, and tell them how much he loved them.

He _was_ going home, and he dared anyone to stop him. With that, intertwining bolts shot from his hand, striking perfectly against the panel. The door grinded open as the circuit was reestablished, revealing a long glass tunnel.

 _'_ _No time like the present.'_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** **Would You Kindly Read & Review! :)**

Replaying _Bioshock_ was interesting to say the least. I noticed plenty of new things. For one, in the first scene when Jack is swimming around, if you get close to the plane wreckage, you can actually hear people shouting and panicking (definite chill factor for me), and if you wait long enough you can watch the plane's tail sink. Kind of morbid when you think about it.

I will be following Jack's direct progress through the story, but with a new light cast on it. There isn't anything displayed, telling him what something is (unlike the videogame), so this will be from the point-of-view of him navigating Rapture and all it entails as a complete learning process, with (hopefully) realistic reactions to situations that arise.

Take care, and don't forget to Review! Let me know your Questions, Comments, and Concerns (QCC) :)

Until next time. _Chapter 2: Welcome to Rapture_


	3. Chapter 2: Welcome to Rapture

**A/N:** SteinMon1920518 here again.

Oh, boy! Another chapter composed for my Bioshock craving, complete with a stash of Pep-Bars and a thermos of Coffee.

 _ **Review Responses:**_

\- Childatheart28: Eh, neither here nor there. I reveal nothing! I always wondered what the purpose of the tattoos were since, in-game, they only seem to serve to identify that you are the character. Symbolism is a powerful thing, but what it means to some people in the context we're given can change our view of the person in question.

\- MartyrFan: Hey, sweet deal! Thank you for the inspiration.

And yeah, I didn't see how Jack was going to lug around everything without additional pockets (dress pants do not hold bullets, bombs, and Plasmid/Gene Tonic jars very well). And even if a game comes off as straight-forward, thinking about it from a human stand-point, how many of us would have done the same thing under the same circumstances. It's all perspective. Door automatically closes behind me, I'd press the lever too.

I do see what you mean by "blank-slate", and Rapture does, in it's own way, strip away inhibitions and reveals peoples true character. Almost a proving-ground for the soul (Oof! That was deep even for me, but I'm TradeMarking that)

 ***End of Responses**

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Welcome to Rapture (Hands-On Training Provided, Labels Not Included)**

Jack wasn't two steps into the extended glass tunnel before the ground started to shake. Up ahead, he saw something he never expected to see again. The tail of the plane was heading straight for his destination, bee-lining for him. He took off running, sheathing his electric clad hand. The glowing blue veins of his Plasmid remained, pulsing throughout as both arms pumped to get him as far down the hall as possible. He heard the crash of the plane wreckage strike the glass behind him, and almost immediately, he felt the rush of freezing deep-sea water under his feet as hundreds of thousands of pounds of pressure began pouring in. The cracking of glass alerted him that he didn't have much time.

He ran faster, turning right as the hall dictated. On his immediate left, he glimpsed a tunnel collapsing through the glass, the door connecting it and the tunnel he was in groaned as it started to buckle from the ocean pressure just outside, water spraying from around its edges. Dead ahead, he all but dived through the furthest door, just in time for the glass to shatter. The door couldn't close fast enough as the tunnel began to fill rapidly with water. It wasn't until he heard it groan and lock shut that he let out the breath he had been holding.

That had been close. Too close. His heart was pounding in exertion, and terror. And excitement.

As he took steadying breaths, he was in another room now. To the left was one of those tube things he had seen. To the right, there appeared to be a deceased body laying against large windows. He moved left first, suddenly alerted when an ashtray on the ground appeared to jostle, startling him as his lifted left hand's blue glow began sparking to life, and the bright blue veins of his right hand cocked the wrench back to strike. He stepped closer, observing the waxing and waning light of the tube as he looked around. There only appeared to be a stack of mattresses and some items laying around, though he didn't know their uses just yet.

Footsteps drew his attention, and he swung around, just in time to see a Splicer scraping a pipe against the ground as it shot by.

 _"_ _Splicer!"_ Atlas warned, apparently aware of this development. _"Give 'em the combo! Zap 'em, then whack 'em. One-two punch! Remember kid! The one-two punch!"_

Jack swallowed nervously, especially after how sick he had felt killing the last one. He gingerly stepped back into the center area, the Splicer charging him upon sight with a yell.

One shot of his bolts stopped it in its tracks, convulsing from its overloaded nerve impulses. His cocked back hand aiming for a kill-shot. Its skull caved in instantly. Before he could let out a gag of surprise, the room's only remaining exit grinded open, revealing another Splicer. It was the same result: One, Two. Zap and Whack. Stunned; Dead.

Taking a moment to collect himself, he looked down at his recently vanquished quarry, eyeing something spilling slightly out of its pockets amidst its bloodied indent of a head. Gingerly, he poked at it with the sopping wet toe of his shoe, kicking away until he could visibly spy the object: A Med-kit by the looks of it, if the red cross on its cover were any indication. He picked it up, looking at it carefully. Splicers carried supplies on them. If that were the case, that meant-

"I'm gonna regret this," Jack complained. He quickly squashed his self-disgust down as he bent to riffle through the dead humanoid's pockets. He shook slightly. He felt so dirty, pillaging from the dead, though that may have been the sticky blood on his hands talking. He pulled out what appeared to be a capped syringe, filled to the brim with some glowing blue liquid. He put both items in his shoulder satchel, clearly aware that he would need the Med-kit, but unsure what the blue syringe did… yet.

With the thought that supplies would be just as important as protection, he began to wonder around, searching for anything of value. Between the corpses and whatever was lying around, three more blue syringes, and another Med-kit. Not to mention food, though he knew his mother would reprimand him for considering potato chips "food" as he pouched it. _"You're a grown man, but you still need to eat properly,"_ she would fuss. It made him smile slightly.

There was also a bottle of wine, but Jack didn't need something to hamper him, both in weight and in clarity, as long as he had to keep sharp. He'd drink when he returned to the surface. However, there was-

"Cigarettes!" he exclaimed, cringing as he realized just how loud he had been. After holding his breath for several heart-pounding moments, and watching the exit with no intrusion, he picked up a partially used pack of a brand called "Nico Time". Let it never be said that he didn't appreciate his own variety of de-stressor. There were only a few left, but he pocketed the small box all the same.

The only thing that made Jack hesitate in his search, besides pilfering the dead like a common graverobber, was the body of a cat just behind the tube. While he wasn't one to be sentimental in this cases, it still made him feel bad. The only other sign that there had been life besides the Splicers, and it was dead.

Finishing his rudimentary room search, he pressed on through the door the second Splicer had entered from, walking up the stairs the rising gear door revealed. He heard a Splicer talking just as what appeared to be a single-man elevator collapsed from above, dropping to the ground with a fiery crash. Jack might have thought longer on this, but the door ahead opened, revealing a Splicer engulfed in flames rushing toward him.

Half-stunned from the sight, he raised his hand to fire a bolt, only to feel it fizzle out. Terrified at his sudden lack of lightning, he swung his wrench wildly, missing the flaming Splicer's head all together. It wasn't until after giving a few good whacks, and taking one to the back of the shoulder himself that Jack inhaled a startled breath.

"Okay, so evidently the lightning isn't permanent," he thought aloud, wincing slightly as he pulled out a Med-kit to see to the nasty hit he had taken. Instead of bandages as he had expected, there was a single needle, filled with a reddish tinted substance. "Great! More needles!"

He rolled up his sleeve again, aiming for the same spot his Plasmid had been inject in. It took just a moment to inject the substance, and Jack quickly pulled over at shoulder of his sweater, watching as the nasty blue and yellow bruise that had formed turned an inky black, then began to fade rapidly. "Well, I'll be damned. Magic shots. Too bad there isn't a drinkable version." Despite his family's rather remote farm, the town they lived outside of was small, but reachable; thankfully with a rather unoccupied physician. Though, his nose scrunched a little when he thought about the medicine he had taken as a child when his mother took him to the doctor. Those spoonful's had been nasty. And the doctor had been rough with the shots he _did_ get, it kind of made Jack wonder how he wasn't afraid of needles. Although… he couldn't remember what his doctor had been called. Hmm.

He tossed aside the otherwise empty Med-kit, pulling out one of the blue syringes with a curious expression adorning his face. "Now what do you do?" There wasn't exactly an instruction manuel, and considering he had found them on the Splicers, he figured they had a definitive use. Shrugging slightly, he figured the only way to find out was first-hand, especially since Atlas wasn't exactly chiming in with answers as he spoke. Wouldn't that be convenient.

Popping off the protective cap, very gently, he stuck his upper forearm again, pressing the blue liquid into his veins. The result was a small surge of energy, like a sugar high, that quickly mellowed out as his blue veins of hand began to crackle to life again on his whim. "Oh," he said in understanding. "So you're like gas for my Plasmid. Interesting."

His new knowledge baring fruit, he tried to walk and organize his supplies as he pressed on through the door ahead. There was still much about this world that he didn't know. One of the elevators was open for him, so he entered, the grate closing behind him automatically as it began to ascend. This must have been the higher ground Atlas had talked about.

 _"_ _Listen, I've got a family,"_ Atlas spoke hesitantly though the radio. _"I need to get them out of here. But the Splicers have cut me off from them. If you can reach them in Neptune's Bounty, then maybe, just maybe-"_

"Look, Atlas," Jack interrupted. Who did this guy think he was? Jack had just climbed out of a bad situation and more than a couple attempts on his life. "I'm sorry about your family. But what the hell can I do? I just came out of a plane crash, got locked inside a lighthouse, hit a switch to open a door and ended up twenty-thousand leagues under the sea. I've been here for what? Less than an hour, and I've had more brushes with death in that time than most people have over the course of a few months." He stifled a sob as he leaned back against the still rising elevator. "I just want to get out of here and go home."

 _"_ _I know you must feel like the unluckiest man in the world right now, but you're the only hope I'll ever see my wife and child again. Go to Neptune's Bounty, find my family… please."_ That hit Jack square in the chest. He remembered, just before the plane crashed, he had seen a little girl asleep in her seat next to her mother, dreaming. What were the chances that little girl was still alive? His chest tightened at the thought.

"Okay," he whispered. If he could prevent that fate from befalling anyone else, then he would. Despite the need to survive, Jack wasn't about to turn his back on a woman and child that needed his help. His parents had raised him better than that. "I'll help."

 _"_ _Oh, thank you! Thank you, Jack!"_ Atlas cried from the other end of his radio. _"I'll help you however I can."_

"~When your daddy's in the ground, momma's gonna sell you by the pound. When your mommy's up and gone, you're gonna be the lonely one~" Jack cringed at the voice as the elevator came to a halt with a ding, shivering at the nursery song tune turned dark. He peaked around the corner, seeing the shadow of what he assumed to be a Splicer over a stroller carriage.

"~When you are the lonely one, no one will be there to sing this song~" He snuck closer, until he could see the Splicer in question. It was clearly a woman, her voice edged with sadness. "Hush now… mommy's gone… and daddy too. Wait, this is happening before and not… why aren't you here?! Why is it today and not then when you were warm, and sweet?"

Jack froze suddenly, comprehension dawning in him as he prepared his wrench. This wasn't a normal person. This was a Splicer, though for some reason, he felt pity for her bubble up in his chest as he snuck closer still. "Why can't mommy hold you to her breast and feel your teeth? Oh no, no no no no-"

He brought his wrench down against the back of her skull, flinching in repulse as her body dropped with a _Thud_ , having severed the spine from the base of the skull. Looking in the baby carriage, he felt a moment of rushing relief. There wasn't an infant like he had expected, instead, there was only a revolver, a weapon he could use. He quickly picked it up, counting out ammunition almost instinctively as he looked back down at the former mother.

 _"_ _Plasmids changed everything,"_ Atlas said dejectedly, as though he had been right next to Jack to witness it. _"They destroyed our bodies, our minds. We couldn't handle it. Best friends butchered one another, baby's strangled in cribs. The whole city went to Hell."_

"Does that mean-" Jack looked down at his newest kill in horror, his fingers pausing from their count. "-Does that mean she… killed… her baby?"

It was silent for a moment before Atlas responded, _"More than likely I'm afraid."_

"I injected a Plasmid," Jack swallowed, nervously looking at his hand as he called the blue arcs between his fingers, "does that mean I'll turn into one of… these things." The cost really did out-weigh the benefit.

 _"_ _Only if you splice too often. If ya start feeling funny-like, ya need to slow down, and give your body time to adapt,"_ Atlas warned. _"Now get moving. We haven't got all day."_

Jack nodded absently in acceptance, looking at the revolver he had acquired as his mentality switched from anger and horror to methodical and strategic. He had six shots right now. Best he use them wisely. Maybe he could find some ammunition laying around. Making sure the hammer wasn't cocked, he carefully slid the weapon underneath his belt, returning his wrench to his hand as he looked ahead toward a sign.

"Kashmir Restaurant," he whispered, carefully poising his weapon and preparing his Plasmid.

It appeared the restaurant was in disarray, like much of the city. Overturned, dirty, and empty of everything except the voice of a Splicer somewhere in its floors. Up ahead, he could see a front desk with what appeared to be a poster for a masquerade ball behind it. 1959? That had only been a year ago. How did a city get so bad in a year? He looked around, noticing some stairs to a lower level. If nothing else, maybe the restaurant still had some unspoiled food. Maybe canned goods? Lord knows, he could use it, since he didn't know how long he'd be down there.

As he turned to look down the stairs, he immediately saw the Splicer fiddling with a door, trying to get in.

He rushed forward, hopping the banister as he brought his wrench down against the Splicer's head with a simultaneous _Crunch!_ and _Splat!_

Jack only felt a little sorry for the Splicer. Atlas had said the Plasmids destroyed both the body and the mind. But even if that was the case, he knew that it wouldn't hesitate to beat him to death. So, as sad as it was, Jack couldn't afford to grant the Splicer any mercy except a quick death.

"Charlie?!" another Splicer called. "Charlie, where'd you go?! Cha-arlie?"

Jack barely had time to look up before he felt something slam into his shoulder. His heart beat suddenly became audible as he looked, meeting the smoking barrel of a gun with his eyes. Funny. He hadn't heard it go off. His breath became shallow, but it was surprisingly numb as time crawled.

He acted quickly, before another shot could go off, a knitting of lightning bolts leaving his hand as he rushed forward toward the Splicer in question. His popular strategy of bashing in a Splicer's head backfired as his wrench bounced off of her cranium with a _Bonk!_ causing him to recoil. Relieved of her stunned moment, she aimed the pistol in her hand at him for a second shot.

 _'_ _Fu-'_ _BANG!_

Jack expected the end. A bitter, twisted end that seemed only fitting in this city. She had placed that shot between his eyes. He had felt the bullet cracking through his skull, felt it pierce soft matter. That was practically a guaranteed kill shot. He should have died.

Instead, he was startled when he felt almost spectral, his mind all a blur as he felt something backtracking, as if something were pulling him by a thin cord that could snap at any moment. He watched as he was pulled to the elevators until his vision immediately cleared anew.

He clawed at his chest, his heart pounding painfully into overdrive as he woke up inside a glass tube. Any harder, and his heart might give out from the sheer stress. He swore he had just died! His shoulder surprisingly felt fine. One glance showed there was only a hole in his sweater, the blood gone, as well as the bullet. A shaky hand began brushing his forehead, almost afraid to feel a hole would still be in his head. There was nothing.

"Oh. God," he panted, pushing open the tube as he stepped out, a little wobbly as he slowly made his way back the way he had come from. That was not something he wanted to experience again. "Fuck."

"Where'd you go?" he heard the Splicer call.

 _'_ _She shot me,'_ he thought incredulously. _'That bitch shot me in the fucking face!'_ His confusion and shock ended, quickly replaced by an empowering anger. He was pissed. He ran right back the way he had come, not bothering to notice that his wrench was still in hand as he jumped down the stair well. The Splicer barely looked up in surprise to see him alive… just long enough to witness the wrench smash into her neck, breaking it on impact as her head suddenly bent at an odd angle. Her body instantly collapsed.

"Fuck. You," he panted, bending over as he panted. A moment of clarity provided itself, revealing that he had retained all his weapons and satchel amidst his resurrection. Dying did have some perks– he shook his head before that thought finished. His chest still ached from the shock of imminent death, and his head throbbed as if to remind him how that death had come about. There was no way he would willingly encounter that again.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly made his way into the room she had come from, gagging as the smell hit his nose. So much for looking for food. The kitchen he was in, looked like someone had smeared year-old cuisine and waste everywhere, although that seemed likely. He kept a sleeve to his face as he roamed further into the back. He was pleasantly surprised to find a cash register and a body. Searching the body hesitantly, and only finding some spare change in the register, he started to leave when he heard more Splicers. "God, do they ever end?"

 _"_ _If you spot a Splicer in the water, hit them with the Electro Bolt,"_ Atlas advised.

"The Electro- what now?" Jack asked in confusion.

 _"_ _The bloody lightning in your hand!"_ Atlas said with tried patience.

"Oh. Sorry," Jack apologized, looking at his hands. _'So it's called an Electro Bolt. You'd think they'd label the Plasmid bottles. Guess I'll have to.'_

Jack filed that note away for later as he moved forward, spying the Splicers in question that Altas had meant. _'My pleasure.'_ As soon as his Plasmid hit the water, a jolting cry of surprise arose from both of them, until they both fell, completely fried. "Now that is a nifty trick." He was feeling a little less guilty as he looted them, and the other Splicers he had brained. Especially after he had been shot. In the face. After an experience like that, his empathy for the Splicers was diminishing; and quickly. Even if they had once been people, a part of him understood from Atlas's statement: "The body needs time to adjust." These people hadn't let their bodies adjust, so in a way, it was their own faults. Jack wouldn't feel sorry for _their_ choices.

As he began scrounging the lower floor for items, he noticed one thing that stood out: a strange box on one of the tables, with what appeared to be a tape inside. He gingerly picked it up, reading the label.

""Property of Diane McClintock", huh," he read. It was the first sign that people, actual people, had lived here. He carefully pressing play.

 _"_ _Another New Year's, another night alone. I'm out, and you're stuck in Hephaestus, working. Imagine my surprise. I guess I'll have another drink… here's a toast to Diane McClintock, silliest girl in Rapture. Silly enough to fall in love with Andrew Ryan, silly enough to-"_ Jack listened as he heard something like a gunshot in the recording. _"What… what happened… I'm bleeding… oh, god… what's happening…?"_ The recording cut right there.

 _'_ _So it's a recording device,'_ he thought, _'like a personal journal.'_ Interesting. But what were the chances he was going to find a lot of these. Well, hopefully if he did find more, they might help him piece together what happened in the city. And there was that name again. Andrew Ryan.

He continued his looting, finding a couple pistol bullets, Med-kits, blue syringes, and money bills – which he stuffed in his wallet. To his relief, he also found a few more cigarettes, which he took out, and replaced in the box he had stowed in his back pocket. It wasn't much, but he did have a few now. He just needed to find a place to sit down and enjoy it in peace.

As he returned to the restaurants upper floor, it was a simple matter to deal with the Splicer that he had almost run into, whacking it quickly until he was sure it was dead.

It wasn't until he moved to searching the restrooms that he stopped, peaking out from behind the divider wall carefully. An image, like some sort of white specter or phantom appeared in his vision, looking over one of the busted sinks into a non-existent mirror. _"I'm too spliced up. I'm too spliced up. Now no one is going to want me!"_ it cried, before it slowly began to fade.

"Great, now I'm going nuts," he muttered, tempted forward upon seeing another recording device at the other end of the bathroom. As he passed through, he gingerly waved a hand through where he had seen the specter. Nothing happened. "Please don't be haunted," he whispered in silent prayer. After he collected the recording device, had listened to its former owner complain about a hole in the bathroom wall, and a Splicer tried to surprise attack him from one of the bathroom stalls, Jack continued on, moving from the Ladies restroom to the Gents. Sure enough, there was a hole in the wall. The recording true to its word, it smelled like shit.

As he stepped into the apparent theater with a half-covered nose, he looked down, seeing what he thought had only been a hallucination. A glowing eyed little girl with a large needle; only this time, she was sticking it in a corpse with a sickening _Shhhk!_

 _"_ _Careful now,"_ Atlas whispered cautiously. _"Would you kindly lower that weapon for a minute?"_

Jack sheathed his weapon obediently, eyeing some light fixtures and scaffolding he could use to get to the other side. He walked carefully across, listening to her humming a sing-song tune as Atlas continued. _"You think that's a child down there? Don't be fooled. She's a Little Sister now. Somebody went and turned a sweet baby girl into a monster. Whatever you thought about right and wrong on the surface, well that don't count for much down in Rapture. Those Little Sisters, they carry ADAM, the genetic material that keeps the wheels of Rapture turning. Everybody wants it. Everybody needs it."_

Jack didn't dare comment for fear of being heard. Who would do that? To a child no less? This city; these people! The more and more Jack was learning, the less and less he cared for this place, and he wasn't sure how much further he had to go until he was free of it. As he stepped to the other side, hearing the "Little Sister" finishing a song with "Teddy Bears, Teddy Bears", Jack felt a strange ache in his chest, accompanied by the familiar blossom of anger. As he took some stairs down to the little girl's level, he watched as a Splicer entered in the room she occupied through a door.

"Hey! Look out!" he called out in panic.

Her head bolted up in surprise, catching sight of him. It took a moment for his words to process before she turned around in surprise at the Splicers approach. He ran to the locked gated door next to the window, trying to rip it open. But not before he heard her scream. He turned just in time to see the Splicer smack her, knocking her straight to the ground. Jack was about to shout, to bang on the window to get the Splicer's attention, when he heard it.

 _"_ _Bbrrraaaaaaaah!"_ something roared, seeming to shake the walls with its tone. Up where Jack had just come from, he saw it again, the multi-eyed creature, though, without his drowsiness, he could clearly see it was a dive suit. And much larger than he had anticipated. He watched as its glowing red-eyed helmet seemed to narrow on the Splicer, jumping down with a _Thud_. The Splicer let off a few rounds from his pistol, only to guard his face as the behemoth threw a theatre chair at him like it was nothing. The creature began moving forward, the Splicer searching frantically for a way out as he let off another couple shots, only for the creature to smack him into the ground in karmic retribution, lift him up to the wall and smash a huge arm drill into him.

Jack gagged when the drill began to spin, spraying the Splicer's blood and innards everywhere as he cried out in pain. The creature then wrapped its enlarged hand around his head, and smashed him into the glass repeatedly, no more than a barrier of simple glass between them and Jack as the window became spiderwebbed with cracks. On the third hit, the creature finally sent the Splicer's head through, dropping it as it hung between its own side, and Jacks side.

"Holy shit," Jack exclaimed, looking at the dead Splicer, unsure just how much of that he deserved. The behemoth seemed to glance at him from the other side, but paid him no more mind as its eyes turned green. "What the Hell is that?"

 _"_ _That's the Big Daddy,"_ Atlas answered warily. _"She gathers ADAM, he keeps her safe. Otherwise, they'd be near helpless to all the Splicer's roaming about."_

The "Big Daddy" gently offered his hand to the "Little Sister", moaning slightly as she took it, and together, they began lumbering off, even as Jack watched in amazed horror. He took a moment to gather himself, before redrawing his wrench, poking at the Splicer indignantly to ensure it was dead, though he couldn't see how it wasn't.

As the jaws of his wrench made contact, the body jolted, causing Jack to _Yelp!_ in surprise as he quickly smashed the wrench into its neck repeatedly, his breaths laden with barely suppressed terror as he slowly tried to steady himself. He gave it another gentle poke, backing away quickly when it seized once again.

"How the fuck are you still alive?!" Jack hissed, waiting for the would-be corpse to respond. Nothing. It was dead… maybe.

Taking his wrench, and keeping a wary eye on the motionless Splicer, he busted open the lock of the sliding gate, gingerly looking around the corner to make sure that neither of the hallucinations, which… weren't really hallucinations anymore, were gone. To his relief, they were. Turning the next corner, he was greeted by another one of those tubes, finally seeing the big bold lettering right over it. "Vita-Chamber." He shivered slightly, not wanting to think about the last one he had seen.

He moved quickly down the hall just in time to hear another Splicer bawling as he rounded the corner… and right into another female Splicer with a gun. Bad memories were already starting to surface.

He reacted with another Bolt, taking some satisfaction as the sparks danced along her jolted form. He capitalized on the Splicers vulnerable state, knocking the gun out her hand by breaking her wrist with his wrench swing, then smashing her knee like he had with his first Splicer.

It was super effective; giving him time to continuously bombard her with hits before she could regain her composure. He supposed there _was_ a strategy to killing them… before they killed him that is. Death was an experience best not-encountered twice. Not thinking much on it, he grabbed her pistol, emptying it of rounds quickly into his satchel before continuing onward, facing another indoor window, and the sounds of another couple Splicers. At least he had a plan now.

The first he saw had a pipe as a weapon. One-two punch. The second and third were standing in some water that lead to a lower floor like a waterfall. They were looting what appeared to be a Big Daddy corpse. _Zap!_

 _'_ _I hope that isn't the one I saw moments ago,'_ he thought glumly, sighing relief when he didn't see the little girl. Even if Atlas thought she was a monster, Jack was still on the fence about it. He still saw a little girl, even if she did creep him out a little… or a lot. But he had also seen what was the norm for Rapture, and if that were any indication-

Looting their corpses, the only way forward was down. He saw a Vita-Chamber below, along with signs that pointed to what he assumed was Neptune's Bounty, and something that read "Medical". With a gentle splash, he lowered himself down into the freezing cold puddle, heading directly for Neptune's Bounty.

Just before he could pass through however, the gate shut in front of him, the room visibly darkening, and a red glow blinking as an announcement called, "Security! Alert in progress!" He heard a bunch of Splicers above him, and by the sounds of it, they were heading his way.

"Come on, Jack," he whispered. "Think. Think!" The only way down was the waterfall. His hand sparking reminded him that he had an advantage on his side. Water plus Electro Bolt. Duh! He also switched out his wrench for the pistol, figuring now was a good time to break it in.

The first two Splicers dropped down into the puddle, just as he had predicted. _Zap!_ An unexpected third one appeared from behind, the butt of a pistol hitting him over the head before he turned around. A Bolt shot, giving him time to aim his gun at one of its wide convulsing eyes. _BANG!_ It was down. More dropped down into the water. _Zap!_ Easier than he had anticipated. He listened carefully, not wanting anymore to get the drop on him. All he heard was the alert.

 _"_ _It's Ryan!"_ Atlas's voice shouted out through the blaring alarm. _"Goddamn Andrew Ryan! He found us! Damnit! He's shut off access to Neptune."_

"What do we do?" Jack asked, quickly injecting himself with a Med-kit serum and another blue syringe… though, he _had_ used quite a few Bolts this time. He was going to have to find a way to stockpile his supplies… or find another satchel. If running into Splicers and getting trapped was going to be a repeating habit, he was going to be running out way too fast. Still, the he felt the bump on his head gradually diminish.

 _"_ _There's another way to get there. Head to Medical,"_ the man on the other end of the radio said.

"Okay," Jack responded, but not before he began looting the bodies he had dropped. They evidently had some ammo.

 _"_ _What are you waiting for? Go!"_

Finishing his less than honorable scavenge, he followed the sign, running down another hall through flashing red lights, hopping over a fallen piece of the ceiling before he made it into another room, an open pressure hatch saying _that_ was the way to go.

As he approached it slammed shut on him. He turned around to go back, only for the cage gate he had passed through to shut on him as well. "What is it with these damn doors up and closing shut on me!" Jack raged within reason. It was an annoying feature that he was beginning to hate with a passion. Then of course, to make matters worse, the lights cut out.

 _"_ _Ah Christ, you're trapped!"_

"No shit!" Jack snapped, clenching and unclenching his Plasmid encompassed fist angrily.

 _"_ _Hold on! Gonna try to override the exit from here."_

A whirring sound drew Jack's attention as a projector of screen flickered on, showing him the "Stand-by" picture of the lighthouse he had seen in the Bathysphere during his less than informative orientation. Just as quickly, the still picture of a man's hat covered, tilted face dominated the screen with the word "Ryan".

 _"_ _So, tell me friend,"_ the new voice, that Jack recognized as Andrew Ryan's from the video. For some reason, the farm-boy didn't think he was going to be getting a tourist guide this time. _"Which one of the bitches sent you? The KGB wolf? Or the CIA jackal? Here's the news: Rapture isn't some sunken ship for you to plunder, and Andrew Ryan isn't a giddy socialite who can be slapped around by government muscle. And with that, farewell, or Dasvadinya. Whichever you prefer."_

"Bastard!" Jack growled incredulously. The asshole hadn't even let him explain what had happened; he'd just popped in with a monologue, assuming he was there to loot Rapture dry. "What a prick!" _'And since when does the CIA wear sweaters?'_ he wondered in tangent after-thought, looking down at his attire in confusion. He thought the government types always wore suits.

Even as the "stand-by" screen returned, the Splicers were closing in, their silhouettes outlined by the screen. All the separated them was a window. Jack immediately tensed, preparing for the fight that was sure to come as they began smashing on the glass with their impromptu weapons.

 _"_ _I got it! Get out of there! Get out now!"_ Atlas ordered, the pressure door opening.

He didn't need to tell Jack twice. Glimpsing as the cracks widened in the window, Jack immediately stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief as the door shut and locked behind him, even as he heard the glass shatter.

"God, I hate this city," Jack complained, sliding to the ground to rest for a moment, letting the gun drop from his hand. It may have seemed immature, and he'd only just got there, but he couldn't help it. The more he learned or encountered, which only felt like the tip of the iceberg in his opinion, the more he couldn't wait to leave.

 _"_ _Just give me a second boyo, and I'll open the door to Medical,"_ Atlas informed him.

"Take your time," Jack replied indifferently, pulling out his pack of cigarettes, popping one up for a smoke. He realized then just how tired he was. How long had it been already? An hour? Maybe two? That plane wreck already felt like a year or two ago, and he hadn't got a moment's rest since then. He hadn't even slept on the flight.

He nestled a dart between his lips, aligning the head between his thumb and index fingers. All it took was a blue spark, and the tip of it ignited. Who needed a fire Plasmid when he could light his cigarette with friggin' lightning? All it took was a little ingenuity. It wasn't the type of power one had, merely how it was used; both in imagination and execution.

After he had taken a stout inhale, he picked up the radio, exhaling a stream of smoke upward. "Hey Atlas? Is the rest of Rapture as crazy as that was?" Looking down at his cigarette perched hand, he noticed it was shaking, his palm greased with drying blood. It wasn't even his own blood, and that thought extinguished any desire to puff on a cigarette with his dirty hands so close to his mouth.

 _"_ _Sometimes,"_ the voice replied. _"In some places, it'll be a lot crazier; especially if some whacko is pullin' the strings in the area. That's what happened when Andrew Ryan mass-produced the Plasmids. What started off as a small business venture, where quality and safety mattered, it turned into a fuckin' arms race. Who could out-splice who? And now- now the people you're fightin' are your friends and neighbors gone mad. That's why- why I need to get my wife and son out. Before they drown with the rest of the city."_

Jack didn't respond to that. What could he possibly say to alleviate the anguish in the only comrade he had down here? He was just an outsider; he didn't know the hardships that had been endured by the populace. Still…

"I'll help you get them out Atlas…," he said, taking a deep breath as he flicked his cigarette away. Retrieving his dropped pistol, he quickly made sure it was fully loaded before he holstered it underneath his belt. Standing was more of a chore than he anticipated, but he stood all the same. Drawing his wrench, a spark coursed between it and his glowing blue veined hands, creating a small crackle between the jaws of the tool.

"…I promise, I'll do my best."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** **Would You Kindly Read & Review! :)**

Whoo-hoo! First First-Aid Kit and Blue Syringe (EVE Hypo). And death! *Shiver* A lot of firsts in this chapter, as well as a quickly dispersing sympathy for the populace.

And those damn doors just keep closing!

And just how will Jack fare in the up-and-coming Medical Pavilion with the current experience under his belt.

Take care, and don't forget to Review! Let me know your Questions, Comments, and Concerns (QCC) :)

Until next time. _Chapter 3: The Price of Perfection_ or something like that. Still debating on the chapter title.


	4. Chapter 3: the Learning Curve

**A/N:** SteinMon1920518 here again.

Sorry it took so long! I was going through a major writer's block on what to do next. Add in that I didn't know if I wanted to make the Medical Pavilion a two-chapter or three-chapter endeavor. But alas, I have returned. Altered the chapter title to fit the occurrences that ensued as well.

 _ **Review Responses:**_

\- MartyrFan: Ooooo! O.O Top Ten. I think that's my first top ten anything... it feels nice. I like this feeling.

I think that's one of my favorite parts about writing my own take on the story: the monologue of the radio being converted into a dialogue. I think that's where Jack's personality kind of shines, rather than in those little moments where he talks to himself. It's him interacting with the other speaking characters.

\- Childatheart28: Haha! That kind of bugged me too, but that was the Cold War for ya. He made the Red Scare look friendly (in a video-game, non-reality kind of way)

\- razmire: Ha! I already took my double-dosage of Lot-128, so your mental trigger phrase has no affect on me! That being said, I'm always a sucker for a happy ending, but that can depend on your definition of "happy". I don't do "perfect" endings. Those are kinda deus ex machina. But "happy"? We'll see.

\- "OBSERVER01 nli": Will do my best.

\- Falvern: Thank you for the encouragement. You got me excited to keep on writing this thing. I do plan to see it through, albeit really slowly. Walking through Rapture and pausing every two steps to jot down some little note or other is a very time consuming process, with me having to reload a save frequently in order to catch some details again. But hey, its kind of fun that way, I'm noticing things I didn't pay attention to before, I'm seeing things from multiple angles. It's like seeing Rapture anew at times.

\- "Guest #1": Awww! Thanks there.

\- BenRG: "Meat Puppet"? That phrase has a _lot_ of meanings, I dare not delve into them for multiple reasons. Be as it may Elizabeth's questionable ethics, it went to prove just how far good people could sink in Rapture (pun intended), especially from someone we got to see in her purest and most innocent form in Bioshock: Infinite. She let her anger and desire for revenge blind her, and in the end, it cost her in order for her to find even a glimpse of redemption.

As for Mr. Ryan, let us not forget that he became exactly what he set out to eradicate in his "utopia". The "Big Man". The controlling and nosy governmental powers. Enough so, that he lost the love and respect of even his closest friends. I wouldn't call his actions "insanity". As you mentioned, it was all about "control". Rapture was his muse and creation, and if Ryan couldn't control what happened to it, he didn't want anyone "corrupting" it. "Childish" might be a term for it. His way or the high-way.

\- "Guest #2 (possibly still #1): That's one of things that makes Bioshock an interesting series for me. The first-person, silent view allows the player to interject his own thoughts and feelings into the matter, with even Bioshock: Infinite making our own actions our personal reward (rather than the karma system that the first two implemented).

 ***End of Responses**

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The Learning Curve (Lessons in Power and Survival)**

 _"Now that you've met Andrew Ryan, the bloody King of Rapture; find your way to Emergency Access,"_ Atlas directed, opening the hatch to Medical without another word.

As Jack edged his way out of the pressure hatched room, he took a moment to prepare himself. To the right, there appeared to be a foyer of some sort. And to the left….

"Goddamn," he growled. "Just how many are there of those Vita-Chambers?" That was what? The fifth one he had encountered? Give or take. Bad memories made for bitter remembrances.

Up ahead, in the foyer, there appeared to be a front desk, with two sets of stairs leading around to the next floor up. But what caught his attention was the jingle of what sounded like another vending machine, and the _Kur-chunk!_ of metal smacking on metal.

 _"Know your craving at the Circus of Value!"_

When Jack entered, to his immediate left was indeed, another vending machine, this time adorned with varies purchase buttons, and the pasty face of a red-painted clown adorning the top as it's spokesperson. Though the laugh the vending machine gave off made Jack shiver. Somehow, it complimented this disturbing world. Just to the right of the machine was a door, trying desperately to close on one of those rotor boxes, like the one that Atlas had used to save him after he left the Bathysphere. It was here that metal _Clunk!_ ed against metal.

Gingerly, he took a look at the Circus of Value machine, keeping a wary ear perked for the footsteps, because he was hearing Splicer voices everywhere, even if he couldn't see them.

"First Aid Kit's. EVE Hypo? That must what the blue syringe is called," he spoke aloud, looking gingerly in his satchel, comparing the blue syringe in his bag and the one displayed on the machine. "Chechnya Vodka. Who vends alcohol outside a bar? Pistol Rounds, and Electric Buck. What the hell? Well good to know that I can buy ammunition, but how does one electrify buckshot?" Evidently the people of Rapture had figured that out. But that also boded another issue; some Splicer's probably had shotguns, and they probably visited the Circus of Value too.

He groaned pathetically at his realization, _and_ a second time when he peeled open his wallet. All-in-all, he was a little low on funds, given the light weight of his wallet; and now he possibly had enemies with electrified buckshot for their shotguns. No pressure.

He snorted slightly at his own joke as glanced out the cold ocean window, taking one more look at his virtually empty wallet before he put it away in his back pocket. Another thing he would have to stock up on, given how comparably pricey the Circus of Value was.

Turning his attention to the mis-closed door and box once more, he looked it over, especially since this door gave direct access to the Emergency Access Atlas had told him to go to, according to the label just above the door-jam.

 _'This is one of those times you're gonna have to wing it,'_ he thought to himself. He knelt down, looking at the disabled device carefully as he considered his options. The device in question was just lying there, and Jack couldn't exactly tear apart something when he didn't know how it was built. Plus the door might lock shut if he did manage to remove it; and that was a _huge_ "Hell No". As it was now, he had a better chance of getting through.

"Looks like I'm forcing it open," he stated, disliking the direct approach, though he had to admit that it was the most plausible option at that point. Nestling his hands carefully between the door jams in the center, he heaved as he forced them apart, listening to the grinding of gears as he went against the tread. All in all, it wasn't much effort, but it still made his arms sore as he beheld his work. The door wouldn't be closing on him, but he left the disabled device in the middle… just in case. However, on closer inspection….

"Can't be that different from a tractor," he commented as he viewed it's near destroyed paneling, along with a few exposed wires. Of course, he had to remind himself that the door might close and lock shut, and that would be bad. So the box bot in question was better off where it was, cause he would be damned if another door closed and locked on him. It looked like it had been broken out of the display case right in front of him anyway, so what was the chance it would actually function.

It was with this distracted thought in mind that he turned the corner, immediately spotting a Splicer bent over a corpse. Acting quickly, because going back was no longer an option, he closed the distance, practically tackling the Splicer as she began to look up. She thrashed, trying to beat him with a wrench, but was immediately stunned convulsing when he tried to pin her armed hand with his Electro Bolt active hand. Just as surprised, he finished her quickly with a quick smack to the temple, rolling to his feet when he heard a gun shot _Whiz!_ past his head.

There was another Splicer standing on some metal steps, ready to fire off again as Jack threw his wrench at it, watching as his uncoordinated and disastrous aim smacked the Splicer in the eye. He immediately dropped his gun, his hand holding over his face as Jack charged up the stairs striking up with a closed fist into the Splicers chest. He felt a spark of lightning connect between the aberrant flesh and his knuckles, and the Splicer collapsed like a sack of rocks, his eyes wide and shallow gasps escaping him as he clawed at his chest. But Jack didn't wait, grabbing his wrench from the staircase, he swung it at the former man's head, watching as it bounced off and the Splicer continued to jitter.

"What the Hell?" Jack complained in shock, noting that this was the second Splicer to take a whack to the head, only for it to bounce off, "Is you're skull made of lead or something?!" He prepared to make another strike, grasping the Splicer with his Plasmid hand to steady his next strike, only to watch as sparks danced along his skull on full-contact, the Splicer's whole body alive as the smell of something burning assaulted Jack's nose.

He removed his hand, and all movement stopped, the Splicer clearly dead as it sizzled. He put a hand back on, and it started jittering again. Off; it stopped. Putting his wrench down, Jack tried his right hand with equal results, the active Plasmid not isolated between either of his hands, but summoned to either when and where he wished it all the same. He picked up his wrench, his face contorted in thought as he felt the energy storm through his grip as he touched both open jaws to the Splicer. It began shuddering again.

"Well shit," Jack commented as he stood up, looking at his weapon from his morbid experiment. Evidently, the active Plasmid had an effect even when he wasn't using it for ranged attack. _And_ , do to the metal in his tool, it was a decent conductor. "That would have been nice to know." Somehow, he got the feeling he should be extra careful with his firearm. He didn't need the bullets misfiring from his hand's electric shock. He was lucky that hadn't happened before. At least it was nice to know that he had a modicum of control over his Plasmid.

Moving on, he looted the bodies and lower room for ammo, money, and a bandage, along with a recording labeled "Adam's Changes" property of Dr. Steinman. He hesitantly pressed play, almost afraid of what he'd hear.

 _"Ryan and ADAM, ADAM and Ryan… All those years of study, and was I ever truly a surgeon before I met them. How we- plinked away with our scalpels and our toy morality. Yes, we could lop a boil here, and shave down a beak there, but… but could we really change anything? No. But ADAM gives us the means to do it. And Ryan frees us from the phony ethics that held us back. Change your look, change your sex, change your race. It's yours to change, nobody else's."_

Jack looked at the recording device in horror as he looked down at his own hands. Ryan _freed_ them from phony ethics? Was that all there was to the world? People just waiting to be given permission to shoulder off morality and act as they pleased? But Jack looked down at his own hands. He understood a little. He may not agree with the concept of altering who he was based on a visual representation such as his appearance, sex, or even race. If one could so easily shrug off their morals, did they even have any to begin with, or was it as removable as the Splicer's masquerade masks? And if that was the case, did physical appearance even matter at that point for people so repugnant?

He pushed those thoughts away as stood once more to his feet.

There was a door at the top, along with the Emergency Access Controls as well. Down below, where he had just been, he could see the Emergency Access to Neptune's Bounty was gated off… _and_ looked half-submerged. Once again, Jack was faced with whether or not to pull the lever. On one hand, nothing would make itself happen; on the other, what if he got locked in again.

"Well," he said, taking a deep breath, "here goes nothing." Hesitantly, and with his eyes half-closed in dread, he pulled the Emergency Access Control lever.

A screen right above the controls flashed "Access Denied" at him, even as the lights turned red and he spun around, having heard the doors behind him opening for once. A Splicer ran by, scraping a pipe along the halls wall, and in his shock, Jack had let loose a Bolt in reaction. He missed.

 _"If you want to use the Emergency Access, you'll be needin' Doctor Steinman's key. He's the one what runs this place. But I don't expect him to hand it to you out of the milk of human kindness. Steinman ain't that kind, and frankly, I'm not even sure he's still human,"_ Atlas told him.

"This would have been nice to know sooner," Jack muttered. "I could have at least prepared for that first _before_ being told I was denied access." He actively created sparks between his wrench's jaws as a sign of frustration before going after the Splicer that had run by. The fewer that got the jump on him later down the road, the better. It was a short hall of pipes that extended out toward a balcony. And he could see a Tommy Gun leaning against the console, and yet, there wasn't a Splicer pointing it at him.

 _'Trap?'_ he asked himself. "Trap," he answered back. Listening carefully, he could just make out the low, raspy breaths of the Splicer in question. It was a simple matter to parry the pipe she tried braining him with, then prod her in the chest with the electrified wrench, effectively stopping her heart. Simple, and he didn't feel a bit drained by it. Just using the residual electricity the crackled gently off his hands seemed to do wonders. _'One more strategy for killing them,'_ he thought grimly.

He quickly picked up the Tommy Gun, and looted a nearby container for some ammo and a Med-kit, strapping the weapon over his shoulder before glaring down at another switch, a small plaque right above the switch reading "Electrical Override Switch".

"Well, at least it's labeled," he muttered, pulling it. Immediately, the foyer was bathed in light, and he could see the path ahead opened up as the slide gate retracted… and let in a handful of Splicers

 _"Now you've rattled the monkey cage,"_ Atlas warned. _"Here they come."_

And a couple of those Splicers had guns! Jack dropped to the ground with a grunt, wrapping his arms around his head protectively as he heard bullets shatter the glass of the window, smacking into the wall and door he had just come from. He quickly crawled back through the door, remaining on the ground until he exited the proximity of its automatic function, putting up a barrier between him and the bullets. He could already hear the Splicer's running up the stairs in preparation to beat him down.

To say the fight was easy would be a lie. There were eight of them; six trying to bash his brains in and two shooting. They came one or two at a time. Such a strategy wouldn't normally work, if they allowed him time to catch his breath between sets. Even with his newly realized skills with his Plasmid, Jack had barely been able to inject another two Med-kits and an EVE Hypo before the fight was won, reveling in the sensation of a cut across the back of his head healing, and a bullet dislodging itself from his side. _'Yeah, that's gonna leave a mark,'_ he whimpered in thought as he heard it _ping_ to the grated ground, the flesh around the former wound forming a clear scar, but it still didn't stop the groan he let out when he took a look at his sweater. A new set of holes, and more gore had stained it. _'I'm gonna need a lot more than a drycleaner.'_

He gingerly pulled the wool sweater off, sickened by how it peeled away from his skin, being slightly sticky from drying blood and sweat. All that dressed his torso now was an undershirt, which also bore a couple bullet holes. The haunting, underwater Rapture lighting timidly exposed his toned frame and windswept skin from work on the farm. He half-wondered if Rapture had something else for him to wear while he was roaming its halls, but he wasn't about ready to retrieve something from one of the Splicers. Just the thought of wearing anything second-hand from one of them made his skin crawl in disgust.

After folding up his ruined sweater in his satchel, it didn't take him long to loot the foyer and the bodies, which yielded him some First Aid, a Hypo, ammo, and plenty of money, especially when he sorted through an abandoned handbag at the front desk. Along with that was another diary, labeled "Released Today" from Diane McClintock. Being in a time crunch to help Atlas, Jack made an exception and listened, especially after her last diary he'd found. It made Jack smile a little, even if it was a sad one.

 _"Doctor Steinman said he'd release me today. Ryan didn't come to see me since the New Year's attack. Not once. But Doctor Steinman was very attentive. He told me that once the scar tissue was gone, he was going to fix me right up. Make me prettier than any girl I've ever seen. He's sweet alright… and so interested in my case!"_

Almost sadly, Jack wondered how many of the people he was listening too were still alive; and of those that were, which ones would still be considered human. There were so many Splicers, Jack felt a sense of hopelessness. Besides him and Atlas, he didn't hold his breath at the hope that there were others.

He climbed the stairs of the foyer, passing an overturned wheelchair whose occupant lay dead under it, and he pressed on into the Medical Pavilion. He was greeted by yet another corpse as he passed the signage decorated with a waterfall, carefully listening as he bent down to riffle. A decent fold of bills, and a cylinder of pistol rounds rewarded his search. To his left there was a dead Splicer and a broken station; to his right, a single vent. He pulled a single 00-Buck Round from the Splicer.

He would have pressed onward, but he stopped for a moment as he looked back at the aesthetic waterfall. _'I should wash my hands,'_ he thought, looking down at the grime that had been caught under his fingernails and in his cuticles. "Sounds like a plan," he muttered, the sparks in his hand retreating, but his veins still aglow, as if waiting for the instant he would need it again. It wouldn't do to fry himself with his own Plasmid.

The water was cold, but not entirely freezing as he scrubbed, watching as the blood stubbornly washed away. It wasn't a perfect rinse, his hands were still tinted with red, dyed from the fresh corpses of his multiple foes, but the familiar action calmed his mind. While also allowing him to, unfortunately, think.

He'd grown up on a farm, gone to church on Sundays, loved his family. Now he was broken, a shadow. A figment of the man he had been. The red on his hands was the proof that no matter how much he scrubbed, he wouldn't be able to wash his hands of his actions. An alliteration to how far he had sunk, both figuratively and literally.

Steinman's recording was right: ADAM did change things. But Jack didn't blame the ADAM for swinging the wrench or letting loose the lightning. He blamed himself. He killed. Perhaps not in cold-blood, perhaps only in self-defense, but how much red would stain his hands before all was said and done? Was there any forgiveness for the things he had done? What about the things he might have to do?

He quietly re-searched the purse of the corpse at his feet, finding a relatively clean handkerchief to dry his hands on. It may have been a pointless action, given they would just get dirty again, but it was a luxury he wanted to feel once again, if only to remind himself that there had been a time when he felt normal. He looked back at that silly lad who had walked onto a plane, only to feel tears sting his eyes.

"Duck, duck. Goose!" Jack's head pounded as something struck him from behind, causing his vision to swirl painfully as his face smacked into the waterfall face. He slid to the ground, opening and closing his eyes to try and clear the blur and water away. "Hey buddy, whatcha ya got there? Ya got supplies?" He felt the Splicer grabbing at his satchel, trying to pull tactlessly at it only for the strap to jerk against Jack's body. "Hand. It. Over!" It was suspended across his shoulder. But the Splicer was too tunnel-minded to attempt anything else as he continued to jostle Jack, giving him time to recompose himself.

He kicked out, smashing his heel into the Splicer's knee cap with a grunt. He scrambled as the Splicer cursed in pain, dropping his lead pipe. Jack dashed around him, wrapping one of his arms around the Splicer's neck, grabbing the crook of his own arm while the other hand wrapped over the Splicer's head in a hold. The degenerating human flailed, trying to break out of Jack's grip with all power afforded him, only to be silenced as Jack closed his eyes.

With tremble to his lip, his hands reactivated, a volatile electric current flowing freely into the Splicer's brain. The flailing increased, only for Jack to squeeze tighter until he heard a faint gargle in his hands. He still didn't open his eyes, even after the electricity stopped and the struggling ceased. He dropped the body, sniffling slightly as he bent down, pulling away a couple more bills from the pockets of the formerly living.

He had let his guard down. Only for a moment, but in that time, he could have lost everything he had. He could have " _died_ " again. He couldn't afford to reflect on his sins. He brushed away his tears with the crook of his arm, forcing himself to smother whatever feelings he had. He couldn't afford to let himself get caught again, and if this moment had proven anything, the Splicers could be crafty when need be. He had to always be on alert, lest he find himself bashed upside the head again. That was the lesson he took to heart as he retrieved his wrench. He couldn't afford to reflect.

It was as he gazed down the hall he heard another Splicer, rambling on as most of them did, followed by a boisterous round of manic laughter that sent chills up his spine. Up ahead was another door. As he stepped toward it, his vision blurred, becoming writhed in static as another white specter fizzled into existence.

 _"You promised me pretty, Steinman, you promised me pretty! Now look at me…LOOK AT ME!"_ the figure cried, crumpling in heap in front of the door before she faded, the lights clicking and flickering before returning to normal.

Jack swallowed as he glanced at the door. His throat felt heavy. _'Another ghost of Rapture,'_ he thought in whispers, as if afraid of disturbing the less-than-peaceful dead.

He stepped toward the door carefully, reading the plaque on the floor that said "Surgery". The doors automatic function _Kuh-chunk!_ ed as something held it shut. The only thing that stood out was small button to the side, and Jack knew the only way forward was to press it.

As it opened, his radio blared to life again, giving sound to the pitch black ahead. _"You keep an eye peeled for Steinman. The daft bastard's set up shop in the Surgery Wing. You wanna find him, just follow the blood."_

The lights flickered on, revealing three pictures of women, the name "J. Steinman" lathered on each of them in blood, large surgical clampers hanging on the wall. In front of that, a hospital bed sat covered in blood, a vase of floors standing on top of it, along with a jar of knives right next to that. The whole thing was like some sick eulogy.

On the floor in front of that, the words "ABOVE ALL, DO NO HARM – J. Steinman" was likewise written in blood. How… ironic.

"Fine. Sure. What's one more crazy?" Jack said sarcastically, realizing half-consciously that he could end up as one of those crazies if he wasn't careful. There was another recorder, hanging up next to the sickening display as though it were meant to be found, so he played the "Higher Standards" recording before he could think anymore on his potentially eminent future.

 _"ADAM presents new problems for the professional. As your tools improve, so do your standards. There was a time, I was happy enough to take off a wart or two, or turn a real circus freak into something you could show in the daylight. But that was then, when we took what we got, but with ADAM… the flesh becomes clay. What excuse do we have not to sculpt, and sculpt, and sculpt, until the job is done?"_

Steinman. The not so gradual slip into madness.

Jack shook his head in disgust as he looked to his left and to his right. Both sides looked like buckshot had peppered the walls, but to the right, something was actually hit, blood smeared with the holes and a body laying limply. He walked over to the body out of reflex, much to his own reemerging self-disgust, to begin looting. No sooner had he began riffling, he heard shots rapidly open fire.

Reeling backwards, he slammed into the wall, coughing in pain at the bullet that had lodged itself behind his left shoulder blade. "God!" he groaned, his eyes clenching as he tried and failed to stifle a sob. It must have hit bone. How else could it possibly hurt so bad? He didn't even feel his pistol digging into his hip, or the tommy gun over his shoulder that now acted as a perch against the wall, the weapon's chamber bolt poking into his back.

He took several shallow breaths as he tried suck-up the pain rather unsuccessfully, peering around the corner to catch sight of a dead Splicer on a surgery bed before gaining a glimpse of his impending enemy. A small automated turret, with a perfect view no matter which side he would have come out of. The fucking Splicer laying near the wall had been bait… or a victim.

The anger helped dull the pain a little bit. That was good. "Fucking machine," he growled, digging in his satchel with one hand as the other held his wrench in a death grip.

 _"Remember, all them machines will short out right and proper if you hit them with Electro Bolt,"_ Atlas advised, far too late for Jack's patience.

"Right. Good to know," he winced, biting his tongue lightly to divert his attention somewhere else as he fumbled to pull out a Med-Kit, before noticing that it was his last one. His head beat back against the wall in frustration. Lesson learned: be frugal with supplies. Not every wound needed treated immediately. Taking yet another new lesson to heart too late, he pulled out the red-tinted syringe before plunging it tactlessly into his arm, an itch settling into his shoulder as he felt the bullet slowly worm its way out of his flesh. Yet another scar. He was going to need both arms if he wanted to live any other extended amount of time.

He moved to the other side, another Splicer laying on the ground with an EVE Hypo next to her. Perhaps both dead Splicers had been killed by the turret. A garbage can was the only barrier between him and the machination. Now that his head wasn't clouded with bitter thoughts about his previously wounded shoulder, he wondered how the turret targeted him in the first place, never mind that it was probably a Splicer that set it up. From his small vantage point, he could just make out some of the exposed wires. Maybe if he fiddled with them, he could shut it down.

One deep breath. Two- Jack lunged and rolled, surprising himself with his own dexterity as he went shoulder first into the ground, half-expecting pain, only to land on his feet next to the turret. He was stunned for a second before he heard the turret beep at the sudden movement, beginning to turn toward him.

Shaking his head, he let loose a Bolt, watching at it sparked and the barrel of the automatic weapon lower. Crisis averted, he went to yank the wiring, only to find his hands moving on their own, pulling out some of the paneling to do… something? _'Wha-?'_ The reset mechanism was purposefully shot to prevent tampering, but, if he reconnected a wire here, adjusted that fluid tube here, and pushed that button there-

"Ow," he hissed, snatching his hand back out of the machine in confusion, not quite aware of what he was doing in his autonomous state. The tip of his finger had a blot of red on the end of it. He quickly began sucking on it, realizing that whatever had got him was most definitely not sanitary.

"What're ya doin' messin' with my turret ya fuck?!" a Splicer dressed in dirty surgeon scrubs called, pulling out a pistol.

Jack swung around, preparing to jump behind the wall only to hear the turret begin beeping angrily as the barrel perked back up. _'So this is how I go,'_ he thought with some humiliation, now that he actually had time to think about how he would die. The whir of the turret turning was enunciated to his ears. Painstakingly. Slow. He was going to die after trying to disable a turret. He was going to die because he had been stupid and exposed himself out in the open. And he didn't even know what the Hell he had been doing!

He flinched as he heard the rapid fire of guns go off, only not to feel anything. Sucking in his lips, he gingerly peered out of one eye, noting that the turret was firing on the armed Splicer, who was firing inaccurately back in surprise. He waited for a moment in his half-tensed half-shocked state, watching as the Splicer fell rapidly to bullet hails.

"Um… how?" he asked no-one, looking at his hands with intrigue. What had he done to turn the turret to his side? He carefully squatted down, keeping a keen sense to his surroundings as he took a peek back inside the turret, looking for what he had been tinkering with. He found the pin-prick he had poked his finger on, a short hypodermic needle just within reach amidst the machinery parts, his blood still fresh on its tip.

He shook his head. It didn't matter how, the simple matter was that it worked. If that was all it took, then maybe, it wouldn't be so hard after all. It definitely seemed like a piece of cake compared to fixing the tractor. If there was one turret, then there was more; and if there was more, then he could use them. That simple thought was overcast by another thought. _'It's never that easy.'_ What was to say that it would be so simple all the time? He couldn't let his guard down, even with his new automated protector around. He just needed to survive as long as he could; and leave Rapture behind as soon as he could.

He eyed the turret once more before handling his wrench, and readjusting the tommy gun on his back, which had been digging into his side since he slammed into the wall. Survival in mind, he couldn't rely solely on his wrench and Plasmids, wondrous advantages though they were. He had enough pistol ammo for a few reloads, and his tommy had a few bullets. To keep the Splicers at bay and prevent from taking hits, he was going to have to learn to judge when and where to apply his melee.

Jack decided to press forward when his head began to ache from all the new things he was learning; absorbing in the continuously evolving stream of information. He had already died once, discovered efficient ways to take out Splicers, that his Plasmids were ambidextrous, that he could channel his Electro Bolt through metal and Splicers alike; he couldn't let his guard down _Ever_ , he needed to conserve his resources for more pressing matters, turrets could be turned to his side, and he now had to be the judge of when he changed weapons. Never mind that he was still in shock, having just been in a plane crash, diving into an underwater city with genetically altered humans, and altered his DNA all in one night… just to name a few.

It was stressful, and Jack rubbed his temple with his extinguished Plasmid hand before taking a deep breath. The sooner he got to Neptune's Bounty, the better. But first, he needed Steinman's key.

He quickly made a short search around the immediate room, gathering what supplies he could salvage, including two registers behind the Enwell Life and Health Group counter, along with another recording reading "Parasite Expectations", across from his new turret. Besides a few dollars (totaling at about $93 in his wallet) and the EVE Hypo that he had seen earlier (having four now in his satchel), and a couple more cigarettes next to the corpse on the left from where he entered; along with some bullets that had been looted from the dead Splicers and their strewn pistols. He also noted to the right of the entrance, there was another turret peeking out from behind a tattered wall and a sign that lead to Surgery, and to the left a sign that led to Funeral Services and likewise, Surgery.

Before he pressed onward, he took a moment behind the counter, pressing play for the recording, immediately recognizing Andrew Ryan's voice. _"On the surface, the Parasite expects the doctor to heal them for free, the farmer to feed them out of charity. How little they differ from the pervert who prowls the streets, looking for a victim he can ravish for his grotesque amusement."_

Jack scrunched his nose at that slightly, despising the imagery and association. Although, having lived on a farm, he wasn't sure if he agreed with Mister Ryan's statement or not. Pap had always been a man of fair trade; a charity in and of itself. If you worked, and worked well, you ate a home-cooked meal made by Mama Wynand and had a bed in the guestroom. But Jack frowned when he couldn't remember what she had made the night before he'd left for supper. Hmmm. Suppressing his confusion, Jack walked to the right.

Prepping his Electro Bolt, he snuck around to the door that lead to the next turret, quickly rinsing and repeating the method that had worked previously: shorting it out with a _Zap!_ , and pulling of the panel, letting his hands do whatever it was they were doing, until he found the needle prick that had swayed it to his side. The room the turret occupied netted him some supplies, including a Med-Kit (supply at one), some tommy bullets, and a new set of pistol rounds that Jack couldn't identify. He sat back when he heard a Splicer, letting his newest turret finish her off, collecting the bullets from her pistol and a few dollars. It really did pay to let the turret do the work.

Further ahead was another Medical Pavilion sign, with another room branching from it. In here, Jack heard a new jingle. _"Muchos gracias señor!"_ Down in the room, which was flooded, Jack noted another Circus of Value machine, along with another recording. He took a moment, hovering his foot over the water warily, as if thinking about what to do, before he outright stepped in, seizing at the cold water. He trudged over, snatching up the recording as he clenched his teeth to keep from shivering.

"Vandalism" from Andrew Ryan. _"It has been brought to my attention that some citizens have discovered ways to… hack the vending machines. I should not need to remind each and every citizen of Rapture that free enterprise is the foundation upon which our society has been established. Parasites will be punished."_

"I can hack the vending machines?" Jack questioned to no-one aloud, looking this way and that like a criminal about to be caught. Shrugging his shoulders, he knelt down, looking for this "way" that allowed him to do so. He remembered the exposed wires on the first one in the foyer, and immediately went to work.

The system was different than a turret, instead of requiring a prick on his finger, it was about reaching in and adjusting the dispensary-to-price tubing in order to bypass- Jack shook his head as his thoughts caught up with him… but his hands continued to work on their own. What was he doing? Where did those thoughts come from? And why was he doing it like a professi-

A small zap caught his nimble fingers, his hand snatching away instantly at the sharp pain that jolted up his arm. He winced, intaking a sharp breath as he sucked on his sore finger. Evidently it was booby-trapped. He should have figured after listening to Ryan's recording.

He debated a return attempt, before sticking his hand back in, trying to be extra careful. It was two tries later, and a lot of sore fingers, that he heard a small _Beep_ , and took a look at his handiwork. His feet were cold, his fingers hurt, and he didn't even know what it did.

He looked at the machines vended items. Kit's, Hypos, Pistol rounds, an Armor-piercing round?, tommy rounds, vodka ("Seriously?") and some Buck. Not a bad haul, and it looked like the prices had gone down too. Interesting. However, Jack still held fast to his cash, as he turned around to view the newest jingle: another vending machine called an El Ammo Bandito.

Luckily for him, the circuitry panels were much the same between the two vending machines. He was more fortunate this time when he tried to hack it, he only got his fingers zapped once. Merchandise included pistol rounds (armor-piercing and regular), tommy rounds (antipersonnel and regular) and more buck at a discount price. And boy! Ammo was expensive.

Having had his fill of harmful games, he went back out to the main rooms, back tracking as he returned to the counter, and proceeded onward with caution as he explored. Behind the wall the first turret was nestled up against was a small waiting room, along with a functioning station, like the destroyed ones he had noticed on his way from the Foyer.

A First-Aid station, complete with red cross, a cash insert, and a needle (of course!). He checked the money insert. Sixteen dollars. Bu-ut… there was a panel along the side.

Grinning slyly with his newly acquired knowledge, Jack pried off the panel, and once more was greeted by wiring and fluid tubes. Unlike the vending machines, it was much easier to navigate and alter. He didn't even shock himself this time! As he finished up, he was half tempted to sample the machine before he stopped himself. He wasn't really injured except for his pride and a few shock burns on his fingers, so he should save his money. He didn't need the station.

 _'Yet,'_ he thought glumly to himself. The Med-kits were $15 at a hacked vendor, but the stations were… $10? It didn't display the altered price, the $16 still etched on the plaque, but the math seemed right.

He frowned as he thought that. The math. Seemed. Right. "What is up with you Jacky-boy?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head in bewilderment as he continued about his quest. He could worry about weird coincidences later.

He looted the waiting room for a couple dollars and yet another recording. Property of someone named Tenenbaum, and labeled "Love For Science". _"I was at German prison camp only of sixteen years old when I realize I have love for science. German doctor, he make experiment. Sometime, he make scientific error. I tell him of this error, and this make him angry. But then he asks, 'how can a child know such a thing?' I tell him, 'Sometimes, I just know.; He screams at me, 'Then why tell me?' 'Well,' I said, 'If you're going to do such things, at least you should do them properly.'_

Jack looked at the recording in his hand with some… haunting feeling in the pit of his stomach. That voice. He… he didn't know why, but for some reason, he felt his chest tighten, his breath grow shallow, and tears sting the corners of his eyes. Why? He blinked a couple times as he regained his composure, quickly making sure that there were no Splicers sneaking up on him, before he added it to his growing collection of questions and unexplainable moments. Maybe Rapture was affecting him more than he thought.

He rounded the corner, moving toward the Funeral Arrangements sign, keeping to an overlap pattern to ensure that he was clearing any Splicers from trying to sneak up on him again. On the wall ahead, written in blood was the phrase "ADAM denies us any excuse for not being beautiful", just under which was hung another obvious recording, along with a dead Splicer at its base.

Jack moved cautiously as he heard a distant Splicer hawking as it coughed, loud footsteps splashing in water as he edged forward. Picking up a box of Bandages, which he nestled away for later use when he would need them for his minor wounds, and looting the corpse for a couple more dollars, he picked up yet another recording of Doctor Steinman's, "Limits of Imagination".

 _"I am beautiful, yes. Look at me, what could I do to make my features finer? With ADAM and my scalpel, I have been transformed. But is there not something better? What if now it is not my skill that fails me… it's my imagination?"_

 _'Creepy, crazy,_ and _full of himself,'_ Jack thought dejectedly, knowing how his meeting with Steinman was likely going to go. Looking down the hall to his right, his attention caught on the burning torch of the "Eternal Flame" sign, and just in front of that, a door's base encased in ice leading to Twilight Fields Funeral Home according to the sign. He was about to walk forward when he heard the sound of a Splicers sob.

He felt his Plasmid buzz to life on impulse, sparking at the tip of his wrench menacingly as he inched forward, keeping his eyes peeled. Just across from the iced door was a corner, and he could all but hear the laden breaths that marked his target. He side-stepped quickly around the corner, beholding another surgeon Splicer before his Plasmid hand grabbed his head, bashing him face first into the wall. Just as the stunned Splicer fell, he jabbed his wrench into his chest, watching as he spasmed, dying slowly from cardiac arrest. It yielded two dollars.

He rounded the next corner, landing him just in front of Dr. Steinman's Aesthetic Ideals, two stairs on either side leading downward toward "Dental" if the sign was accurate. He was about to step forward when he stopped himself.

"That's the way I need to go," he argued with himself.

 _'But Steinman isn't likely to be a normal Splicer,'_ he reasoned.

"True," he affirmed back, "he does run this part of Rapture, so it's likely he's stronger than the average Splicer in order to keep the normal ones in check. I need a plan."

 _'I stock up on supplies, weapons, ammunition, and money. Search the whole area. Anything that gives me an advantage. If possible, find some unused clothing.'_ He looked down at his dirty undershirt bitterly before nodding his agreement with himself.

He turned around to see another Med-Station. Hacking it was a cinch. After that, he walked toward the Eternal Flame, eyeing down the stairs to his right gingerly as he passed by. Up ahead, there was blood on the right wall, and another picture of a woman with surgical clamps stabbed through it, and pictures likewise littered the floor. He could hear banging on the door as he snuck just a little closer. "I'll be better next time. Please! Don't go!"

He decided to trade out for his pistol as he rounded the corner, aiming at the female Splicer banging on the door. Jack steadied his shot, targeting for her head. "Say something God-damnit!" she snapped at whoever was on the other end of the door. He was about to pull the trigger when an explosion went off, knocking him onto his back as he pulled the trigger in surprise as he smacked into the wall roughly.

"Knock knock," a Splicer called out, Jack's eyes fluttering open at the voice, trying to clear his ringing ears. The Splicer in question was dressed like a surgeon (go figure in the Medical Pavilion), but cradled under one arm was a wooden box, and in the other, what looked like a small fuse-lit can. "Room service!"

Jack rolled to the side as the Splicer tossed the "can" his way, the concussion pushing him as it exploded.

 _'That's a grenade,'_ he thought in terror, his heart-rate picking up exponentially. _'He has a fucking grenade.'_ _'Correction,'_ he thought back to himself in annoyance, _'he has a box! Of fucking grenades!'_

Jack pushed himself to his feet as he swung around, fortunately having held fast to his weapon, the bomb Splicer preparing to throw another one at him. Jack let loose the storm as a Bolt let fly, striking the Splicer, who in his jolted state, dropped the lit bomb at his feet. Jack's eyes widened in realization as he rolled back over, wrapping his hands around his head protectively as the bomb when off.

 _BOOM!_ He thought it was over when another series of _B-B-B-BOOM!_ went off.

Jack felt something warm and wet splatter disgustingly onto his back and across his bare shoulders. He looked up in bitter annoyance at nothing, sniffing in disgust. He pushed himself to his feet doing his best to ignore the gore on his back as he walked over to the Splicer's in question. The female Splicer yield him a dollar and a Buckshot. The bomb Splicer, now missing his lower half, yielded him a solid fifteen dollars when he searched under his scrub's pocket. _'The higher the risk, the higher the reward,'_ he reasoned bitterly. If something had a better weapon ( _'Like goddamned grenades!'_ ), it lasted longer, killed more, and probably looted other Splicers. Luckily, he hadn't run into any with Plasmids.

"And now you jinxed it," he moaned, walking into the Eternal Flame.

Immediately he was greeted by a welcome sight. Two thermoses. Before he could walk forward, he glanced this way and that carefully, only moving once he had observed the photos on either side, both saying "In Loving Memory of Winston Hoffner", though one was of a handsome man, and the other of some strange attempt of putting photos together. Under the latter was a recording, and under that was signed yet another J. Steinman. But more importantly….

"Please be coffee," Jack muttered pleadingly as he walked toward the thermoses. "Please be fresh, hot, invigorating coffee." He slowly unscrewed the top cap, silently praying if God would listen. The top cap, which acted as a makeshift cup, removed with the diligence of an artist, Jack breathed. It was the moment of truth, the final piece. He slowly began opening the valve at the thermos's top, almost crying when he saw gentle wafts of steam rising out of makeshift spout. Evidently, the Splicers enjoyed a fresh cuppa joe too.

He put the extra thermos in his bag, not caring about the weight as he took the opened one into the corner with a small seating, the recording he had found set next to him. Eyeing both doors warily, one hand held his pistol, and the other held his freshly poured relief as he hit the play button of the recording. "Surgery's Picasso".

 _"When Picasso became bored of painting people, he started representing them as cubes and other abstract forms. The world called him a genius! I've spent my entire surgical career creating the same tired shapes, over and over again: the upturned nose, the cleft chin, the ample bosom. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could do with a knife what that old Spaniard did with a brush?"_

Jack looked at the strange photo amalgamation to his right. "Yea- No," he said with a critical eye, not letting the fantasies of an immoralistic mad-man dirty the taste of his "procured" coffee. Not even Steinman could take this short reprieve away from him. Once he had finished the cup, he considered pouring another, but break-time was over. If he was going to help Atlas, who had been strangely silent, get to his family, he couldn't take too much time to himself.

He sealed and stowed the coffee, noting that his satchel was becoming a tad full at this rate, but he pressed on none-the-less. As he walked through the door to the next room, he was greeted by a strange room, mostly dark further in, and a leak off to the side. "So this is where they keep the bodies, Watson," he mused.

To the right, the stairs were destroyed, but climbable, and to the left and in, he heard the whirring of another machine. He began walking in when his radio began to static.

 _"Security cameras. I can hear the infernal things all around you. Ryan's eyes and ears,"_ Atlas commented, before cutting out again.

"Wai-" Jack sighed at his missed opportunity, before cursing under his breath. But in the end, he could forgive him. The man was probably dealing with issues on his own end.

So Jack peeked out from behind some of the mortuaries closed racks, trying his best not to think about what lay on the other side of the closed doors as he sought out what Atlas had mentioned. Cameras. He remembered the one back in the Welcome Hall, it had called one of those copter-bots. So if he was caught now… "Expect a copter-bot to shoot atcha," he finished aloud. He spied the spyware in, a red beam glaring from its glowing eye as it passed. Taking a deep breath in preparation, Jack stepped around the corner, finding purchase behind a wall that was a perfect place to hide from the camera.

"If I can hack a turret…," he voiced.

 _'…I can hack a camera,'_ he thought.

He listened to the camera's whir as it did a sweep, watched for its red glare of death. _'Red is dead, Jack,'_ he thought educationally to himself. He waited until it passed again before pressing forward, running past what looked like a displayed body on a retracting slate before stepping underneath the camera. He smiled to himself in the realization that the machine had such an obvious weak spot. Reaching up, he set to work with his newfound skillset. Like the turret, he gingerly moved around some exposed inner wiring as he attempted to reroute it, and some of the strange fluid tubes. Also like the turret, there was a pin he pricked his finger on, the camera's lens beamed green once he had, and he stood back to view his handiwork.

"How does that work anyway? Me pricking my finger?" he wondered, walking back toward the displayed corpse, noting the jet-propelled fire inside. It was an oven, or more accurately, a crematorium. He looked at the old husk of a corpse, which beheld an even greater treasure. A bottle with a bright murky blue liquid shining under the surface.

 _'Another one,'_ he thought excitedly to himself as he grabbed it, turning it this way and that. _'And still unlabeled!'_ He pulled out his syringe, sticking the needle point inside the furnace while being careful not to burn himself before blowing on it gently. Just like that, he inserted it into the bottle, withdrew some of the liquid, tapping out the air bubbles as he held it up, squeezed out the excess air, and stuck the needle into his arm. He bit his tongue slightly at the large needle as he squeezed in the contents, waiting for the effect he was sure was going to happen. Other than his veins turning black and writhing around the needle's entrance, nothing happened.

Two minutes later... and still nothing.

"Maybe it's a dud," he thought, moving some stuff around so he could fit the jar in his satchel. Dud or not, it might be useful.

Slightly frustrated at his potential loss, he hit the button next to the furnace in frustration, unsurprised when the body was pulled into the oven and the door closed. He could hear the sound of the flames _Whoosh!_ ing inside before it died down, the door opening to expel a pile of ash on the display table.

Jack quietly moved past the camera again, and up a flight of stairs, listening to the Splicers that were either very poorly lying in wait, or were unaware of his presence. Holding his pistol to his forehead as he took a breath, he swung around the corner. The Splicer at the far end next to a closed, grinding door didn't stand a chance as the Bolt flew first, followed by a carefully aimed shot to her head. A couple more pistol rounds, a couple more dollars. Jack searched the room quickly, doing his best to avoid the oil smeared all over the floor. He found a magazine of tommy ammo next to a burst pipe. He stopped as he stood up from gathering a Med-Kit from a suitcase with a bonesaw and clamps in it, looking in the sink. Two surgical scalpels, the blades as long as his fingers, stood out.

He'd had left his pocket knife back at home, mainly because of its sentimental value, but he sure wished he had brought it with him. It posed a multi-faceted utility value that would have been appreciated in this underwater city. Carefully, he picked up one of the surgical blades by the finger loop on its butt end, eyeing between the pistol in one hand, and the scalpel in the other. It certainly looked like it would be useful. He then eyed the suitcase on the ground. He couldn't very well carry the luggage everywhere, but-

An idea popped into his head.

He dumped out the surgeon's tools from the suitcase onto the ground, pulling off his belt as he strapped the loop through the handle, creating a makeshift shoulder-strap with it. It wouldn't be easy access, but it could hold the items he wouldn't need regularly. Keeping a wary feel for his surroundings so no Splicers would sneak up unawares, he put the Electro Bolt and the unknown Plasmid bottles inside the suitcase (which freed up _so_ much room in his satchel), his folded-up sweater, and one of his thermos's. He also snugged in his potato chip bag, doing his best to keep from crunching up the remainder of the snack inside as he closed the suitcase, and double-clipped it shut. He crossed it over his other shoulder, and just like that, he had two means of storing items.

With his acquired scalpel in his left hand, he gently released a small current through it, touching it to the metal of a nearby container. Nothing. "Looks like you're not conductive," he mused, but looked at the slight glint to the blade. "But sharp as they come I'd wager." He very, _very_ carefully, put it in one of the satchel's side bags, hoping that it wouldn't cut it open as he left the handle exposed for a potentially quick draw.

Looking back to the right of the sink as he finished up, he noticed with grim realization that he was looking at another Gatherer's Garden through a window, in a little side office. The door was jammed shut, making _Kuh-chunk!_ sounds without giving room for him to force it open, bu-ut… the ventilation hatch was missing. He crouched down as he slid under, mumbling about the oil slick that splashed onto his shoes as he entered the room in question.

The over-com screeched as it turned on, the voice of Andrew Ryan drawing all attention.

 _"A parasite wanders the halls. We rebuild our city, and the doubters send a fly to spoil our ointment. One thousand ADAM to the man or woman who pins its wings."_

 _'Not bad for the first bounty on my head,'_ he mused, still fuming at the Ryan for his assumptions. However, realization caught up with him pretty quick. "Oh shit!"

He quickly took a look around the room, knowing that at any moment a lucky Splicer would find Jack in the Eternal Flame. He picked up two EVE Hypos, some more cigarettes, and another box of bandages; ignoring the Gin on the desk. On the floor, next to the Gatherers Garden was another Plasmid, giving off a warm red glow.

"I don't have time for this, if you're not gonna work," he growled at the bottle. "Besides, I don't want to turn into a Splicer."

 _'You need the edge,'_ he countered mentally. _'The last one didn't work, and as great and diverse as the Electro Bolt is, you need options. Options means diversity. Diversity means preparation. Preparation means survival.'_ He couldn't very well argue with that logic, now could he?

The injection this time was different. Nevermind that the process leading up to it was as tedious as ever. The moment he pressed down on the syringe, it felt as though his insides were suddenly gone, replaced by a roaring furnace that rivalled the heat of the crematorium down stairs. Sweat poured from every conceivable pore that could be imagined, and his sopping cold and wet socks now felt as warm and dry as if they had come fresh off the clothes line. Every breath felt forced and scratchy, as if inhaling sandpaper. He felt feverish as his vision seemed to steam with visible red veins. He couldn't feel his heartbeat, but he could feel the moment-by-moment agony of cooking alive.

He collapsed to his hands and knees as he swayed, watching as the backs of his hands began to snap and crackle, his veins glowing like magma, grey ash beginning to float off his knuckles as the tips of his fingers began to smolder, glow soft as freshly lit embers consuming his nails and tips, small red flames licking up his fingers hungrily. It wasn't as intense as the Electro Bolt, but then again, it may have been because it had been his first Plasmid.

It was in that moment that he noticed he was still holding onto his pistol, and in a fit of panic, tossed it away before he could accidently ignite the powder. The pistol landed harshly, discharging a round with a _BANG!_

"Did ya 'ear that?" a Splicer's voice called from below.

 _'Ooohh… fuck my luck,'_ Jack thought from his fevered state. _'Don't pass out Jack. Don't pass out.'_ He willed himself repeatedly to remain conscious this time, aware that enemies were in the immediate vicinity, and potentially closing in.

He pushed up, leaving scorch marks shaped like his hands as he shakily stood. He held his hands out, watching as the flames raged around his digits. Just below the flames, the chains of his tattoos gripped his wrists.

He smiled. Yes. A raging inferno chained within his body. It just needed to be harnessed. Anyone could let the fire loose, let it rampage, but stoking the fire, cultivating it, guiding it.

He breathed slowly, gently relaxing his hands, watching the fire die as the Plasmid ran its course integrating into his genome. Gently he held out his hands, imagining a fire pit, like the ones he'd make for Ma and Pa when they wanted to gaze out at the stars. A ring of stones to contain the blaze. Using that image, he held out his first two fingers, opening his eyes to see a small flame alight on the tip of his fingers. But how to use it? If it was anything like the Electro Bolt, he should have a surprising degree of control over it.

He let the fire expand across his hand, growing larger and hungrier.

"There 'e is! That ADAM is mine!" He turned to see a Splicer banging on the door with his pipe, trying to enter fruitlessly. "Open up! Open up you Parasite bastard!"

Other Splicers followed the shouting of the first, and soon there was a swarm descending on him. They beat at the windows and the walls. It was only a matter of time before one of them broke through the glass, or discovered the blaring hole in the bottom corner of the wall.

That had the floor covered in oil all outside.

 _'No. That's too convenient,'_ he thought in disbelief, looking at the small flame in his hand. He fueled it, willing a small sphere of fire to form in his hand before closing his fist around it. He walked over to the oil puddle, picking up his nearby thrown pistol before lowering his finger to the oils edge. There was no need to waste EVE, lighting a fire with a snap of his fingers and all that, when he could just as easily start a fire with a touch.

The oil ignited as he stepped back, watching flames consume and lick around the Splicers like a pyre. The screams bothered Jack as they slipped and fell into the burning oil, trying to escape their untimely fate. He'd have preferred to grant them a quick, near-painless death. But worse than the screams was the smell that arose from them as the scent of burning sewage and filth assaulted him, causing him to hold a forearm over his nose. Soon followed the sound of sizzling flesh, and popping fat as the slowly but surely the flame ate its fill of Splicer.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** **Would You Kindly Read & Review! :)**

Hey guys! I'll be moving here soon, so there will be another delay in the next chapter. Just heads up. Also, sorry if there are any weird typos, I finished editing on my phone during my breaks.

Some new takes on Jack's abilities, and the Hacking concept in general.

Jack is learning quickly how costly Rapture can be when he lets his guard down. But hey, the doors didn't close on him. *Sigh* But whose idea was it to not label the Plasmid/Gene Tonic bottles.

Take care, and don't forget to Review! Let me know your Questions, Comments, and Concerns (QCC) :)

Until next time. Officially called _Chapter 4: The Price of Vanity._


	5. Chapter 4: the Price of Vanity

**A/N:** SteinMon1920518 here again.

Sorry for the delay. I put my main story on hiatus to hopefully get this out, and from there, it was a downward spiral. First was the writer's block, then the lethargy set in, and _then_... to top it off with a cherry, the fan to the computer I was using quit working, so then I had to get that fixed. That's still in the shop, so I just got a new computer instead. The minority issue with getting this chapter out was that I didn't know if I wanted to make the Medical Pavilion a two-chapter or three-chapter endeavor. But alas, I have returned _finally_... lets just get this going, shall we?

 _ **Review Responses:**_

\- "Guest": And it's just the beginning ) (muhahahahahah!)

\- razmire: Hmmm, I guess you'll just have to find out then. No Spoilers! on this end. No worries about being "sappy". Sappy keeps you're hopeful for the best-case-scenario of any story... even if this is Bioshock we're talking about.

As far as Steinman and Cohen: Jack still has a long way to go, so I doubt he'll be _that_ surprised by the time he gets there. Then again, maybe, maybe not.

\- MartyrFan: I'mma gonna go ahead and bust that myth. Andrew Ryan's half of Jack's DNA is what keeps the turrets and cameras from targeting _quickly_ and _accurately_. But they still target him. It confuses the genetic sensors. But DNA is what the game says they target, so it was a matter of how did the turrets and cameras get the accurate genetic sample that allowed them to ignore Jack. They can still hurt him though. Found that out when I tried beating down a Splicer that my turret targeted.

I LOVE your Electric Gel theory. It adds an in-game possibility that expands upon an already used item. Personally, I could get behind that, but that leaves me wondering what's in the "Alarm Tiles" and "Overload Tiles". I'd say the "Alarm Tiles" triggers fluid similar to what is found in a Security Bullseye Plasmid's polyp, hence the Security Bot that is called (the Alarm triggers the bot's patrol, while the fluid attracts its sensors to the offender). If you have a counter-theory or what happens with the "Overload Tiles", I'd love to read it :D

That's personally where the fun is. Giving Jack a human mind and body that isn't constrained to the game's AI, opens a whole new world of possibilities to his survival situation and tactics. Anything he can grab is usable. Anything can become a part of the narrative.

\- "OBSERVER01 nli": One can only hope, right?

\- BenRG: Mentality versus physicality takes precedence here. At this stage, Jack views himself as a farm boy who just wants to get home; but with physical capabilities that far exceed normal men (so we are agreed there). The only question remains, what happens when the illusions are stripped away and the world one imagined is nothing more than a lie? Despite that, Jack was still cultivated with a borderline dependent need for guidance through Rapture (hence Atlas's constancy throughout), so ultimately, Alpha Predator or not, he's still a pawn Fontaine had every intention of disposing of.

Good to know. I'll keep that in mind.

\- Eltyr: Roland? :/ Regardless, the experiment will continue, hopefully in the chapter after this one. HEHEHEH!

 ***End of Responses**

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The Price of Vanity (Second Opinion's Manditory)**

After a few moments, the Splicers fell one-by-one. Within a minute, the oil on the ground was consumed, leaving nothing but charred corpses.

 _"All roads in Rapture lead to Ryan. The security, the Splicers, the Big Daddies, the Little Sisters,"_ Atlas stated from the radio.

"If that's the case, how does he control them all?" Jack asked as he crawled back out through the vent from which he had entered. He was half tempted to try and loot the corpses, but when a fat pocket popped in one of the Splicers, he covered his nose and tried to keep down the salt water that had settled in his stomach as he gagged. "Splicer's aren't exactly the most reasonable."

 _"He pumps some kind of chemical scent into the air, pheromones they call it. Makes them all dance to his tune,"_ Atlas answered. _"Doesn't hurt that he also has control over most the ADAM."_ Just as quickly as he spoke, he was once again silent.

"At- las," Jack called too late, again, cursing his hesitancy as he looked down at the fire in his hands. Strange. Did that mean-?

As quick as a thought, the flame retreated completely, blue arcs returning as his veins faded from their magma glow to pulsing blue. He smiled, switching back and forth giddily as the Plasmids changed in a strange rapid flashing of color. _'I can switch Plasmids at will,'_ he thought redundantly to his actions, continuing his display with some fervor before his eyes began to ache from the strobe of his childish play. Just as perpetually interesting, he belted his pistol before he held up both of his hands, looking between them with a hint of intrigue. If Plasmids were ambidextrous, then maybe….

He carefully lit a flame in his left hand, the Incinerate Plasmid if the commercials were any indication, before looking at his right. The veins in his non-ignited wrist were glowing with molten orange around and up his arms, but he began to implement the Electro Bolt. He felt his fingers strain slightly as blue began to slowly overtake its way up his veins, but the moment he stopped straining his focus, the Plasmid returned to Incinerate.

"C'mon Jack," he whispered, flicking his hands to loosen the tension as he tried again. He held the distinct Plasmids a little longer, but one always reverted before the residual power escaped from his hand. He smiled at the distinction. Theoretically, he could wield two Plasmids, it just required a greater deal of focus than he could dish out; but he figured it was like a muscle, he just needed to train his body to use them both simultaneously.

He switched back to Electro Bolt as he redrew his pistol, preferring the efficient heart-stopping method of Splicer dispatchment, notably trailing his gaze away from his handiwork with the charred Splicers as he climbed down the broken set of stairs, keeping his eyes sharp, and his ears sharper as he glanced this way and that.

Even as he made his exit passing under the Eternal Flame sign, he turned immediately left, and followed the Dental sign down the stairs that passed under the Surgery doorway to where he assumed Steinman was. Almost immediately, a Splicer in a mask attempted to club him with what looked like a divider post. She met an untimely fate, yielding five dollars for his efforts. It looked much like another waiting room below, save for the large cascade of ice blocking his path. Over to his right was another Circus of Value machine, which he went to hack almost instantly; it was surprisingly easier this time, sending a guilty little tingle through his body has he finished. Just opposite of a divider next to that was a room labelled "Supply". A familiar door-switch coursed in sparks called for the lightning in his hand, and he responded in kind.

It was a small trove, complete with a decent amount of ammo for his tommy, another bag of potato chips, and a strange device on the table that he didn't recognize, but felt it might be worth taking anyway. He otherwise ignored the undrunk Old Harbinger Beer. The room didn't yield much else save for a few empty drawers.

As he exited the Supply room however, he noticed a recording stuck in the ice, and retrieved it as gently as he could. "Freezing Pipes", McDonagh.

 _"Steinman, I know Medical Pavilion is your manor, but you might want to cogitate on this: ocean water is colder than a witch's tit. You don't heat the pipes, the pipes freeze. Pipes freeze, pipes burst. Then Rapture leaks. Now, I realize you're a posh sort of geezer, and, frankly, I don't give a toss if you piss or go fishing. But once Rapture starts leaking, the old girl's never gonna stop. And then I'll be sure to tell Ryan he's got you to thank."_

Jack didn't know who this McDonagh fellow was, but he liked him already. Except maybe his mentioning of Andrew Ryan. But looking at the large iceberg in his way, Jack had a sneaking suspicion (or more like blatantly obvious proof) that Steinman didn't care, and didn't listen.

Despite that fact, Jack kept his eyes forward when he heard whispers on the other side. "Now how do I pass?" he wondered. He could always try hacking at it with his wrench, but that would take too long and draw too much attention. Or… _'You could use the friggin' Plasmid you just got,'_ he suggested to himself sharply. _'Fire and ice, Genius.'_ To say the least, Jack wasn't liking how snippy he was becoming toward himself.

Just a snap of his fingers. His middle finger met his thumb as Incinerate once more covered his hand, his index almost guided as he pointed at the ice. He could feel the heat building up in his fingers, as if the potential friction was accumulating power. He felt part of his finger give way, forcing him to shake excess ash of his consumed skin from his tips, heat rising.

 _Snap!_ The air screeched as hot met cold, causing an burst of ice chips and rising steam as water splashing through his shoes, a result of the ice stack instantly liquidizing. The way ahead had been cleared, and he could just see a Splicer through the mist formed from a steaming pipe, holding a blunt weapon.

Jack extinguished the flames as he switched hands with his pistol, drawing his wrench with his right hand as he allowed Electro Bolt to flow into the jawed melee weapon. Armed to the teeth, he aimed carefully before he opened fire, a bullet smacking into the Splicers shoulder. Before he could retaliate, Jack was on top of him, smashing the jaws pointedly into its neck before he torqued the wrench with crackled of lightning. The Splicer's head did a one-eighty as he collapsed without a sound. Two dollars.

On the hospice bed just in front of where the Splicer had been standing were boxes of bandages, which Jack didn't hesitate to gather up as he looked around. To his immediate left, was an automatic door leading to "Kure All", according to a sign. Up ahead and to the right, he could see a broken clock-face through a sliding gate, what looked like a body laying amidst fresh blood.

His ear suddenly flinched as he heard a splash of water behind him, prompting him to sidestep to the right behind the wall. He peeked around the corner, wrench poised as he noted yet another Splicer, armed with a wooden box, and a grenade in hand.

"I know your out there!" the Splicer called. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Setting down his wrench as quietly as possible, he switched to Incinerate, aiming carefully. The less direct interaction with Splicers he had, the safer he was. Rather than aim at the Splicer, he pointed at the box under his arm.

 _Snap!_ The box ignited, the Splicer dropping it in a fit of panic. Just as quickly as he had peeked out, Jack hid behind the wall again, listening as a series of explosions shouted his success. Another method to kill. He didn't bother going back to loot the Splicer, knowing that it was blown to bits.

He opted for the Kure All first, not wanting to go immediately past the gate when it might so easily close behind him. He regretted that decision.

As soon as he stepped in, he heard a _Pshww!_ and _Whoosh!_ , turning just in time to see something flying at him before it exploded. He slammed into the wall, almost unfeeling, except for how agonized his entire body felt; burning, punctured, bleeding. The sounds repeated, and another explosion went off, his sight fading with a droning ring.

Again. His breath left him, and the world blurred. An invisible string called "life" pulled at him, once more giving him the impression that it could break at any moment. He awoke with a deep gasp, inside the familiar environment of a glowing tube, holding his chest as the impression of his heart restarting once more commenced.

 _'Fucking Hell?'_ he breathed, his chest constricting as though he had awoken from a night-terror, and his body felt the phantoms of whatever had damaged it, his clothing showing that despite his body's miraculous recovery from death, the Vita-Chambers held lesser notions towards things such as apparel. His undershirt was riddled with holes and scorched in some places, and his once nice pants were following suite. His shoes, fortunately, were only scuffed beyond recognition; he'd hate to step directly in freezing water. He sheathed his still held weapons, so he could push out of the Vita-Chamber, coughing in reflex as he turned the corner. He was on the other side of the gate, staring at the broken clock.

He stumbled forward, wondering what the Hell had happened as he approached the body he had seen just moments before. A surgical clamp or scissors was opened, stabbed through both eye sockets, and another through its chest. But in front of it….

Jack snatched up the weapon on the ground, the chemical adrenaline of confusion and rage at dying again dissipating as he held the relief of a familiar weapon. A shotgun. Just the feeling of it reminded him of the times Pa had taken him out into the fields, hunting game birds such as pheasant and grouse, bringing home a welcome addition to the supper table. While he couldn't exactly point out when, the weapon was far to familiar to ignore. It was even fully loaded! He noted the ammunition on the ground and picked it up, gaining another five buckshot. From the body he pulled two Med-kits, and another three 00. Then the lights blinked out, the cackle of a male Splicer sounding in the darkness.

 _'Idiot! It was a trap!'_ he reprimanded himself as a single light shone where he stood, as if pointing him out to his enemies. Already he could hear the gate slamming closed behind him and the sounds of Splicers approaching rapidly.

"I am not dying again you bastards!" he snapped swinging the barrel of his new weapon on the first charging Splicer. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled the trigger. _BANG!_ _Chuk-chuk!_ He loaded another round as the spent shell went flying, backing up against the closed gate just past the edge of the light as another one charged.

He unloaded his clip on the next three until the trigger clicked, forcing him to face two more. The first Splicer gaped in surprise as Jack grabbed the barrel and swung the stock into his face, breaking his nose and shattering his jaw. As fast as he could on the second Splicer, Jack shot out a Bolt, kicking its knee before swinging the gun overhead on its kneeling form, like he was using an axe to chop wood, splatting its grey matter all over the floor. The first looked up just in time to see Jack drop the shotgun, and pounce on him, both his hands igniting into flame as he grabbed on to his head. The Splicer died screaming as his brain boiled alive, unable to rip Jack's hands away fast enough before he sizzled his last.

Panting, Jack backed away from his handiwork, leaning against the wall for support. He sniffed slightly, extinguishing his Plasmid as he bent down to pick up his new weapon. He didn't have time to dwell on it, he knew that already, so he looted, and took to heart never to pick up stray weapons unless he was prepared to fight. Twenty-three dollars richer for his efforts. He proceeded to reload his shotgun before backtracking through the newly reopened gate, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of what had killed him just a minute ago.

He had his chance when he glimpsed into the Kure All front desk, chairs overturned from the explosions, shrapnel having splintered the wall and woodwork, and the receptionist desk looking worse for wear. He peeked around the corner, noting at the far end, a single turret in a small side room. Almost as soon as he spotted it, a light blinked on, the turret shuddering to life as it looked his direction.

 _Pshww!_ He saw something flying at him as he stepped back around the corner, only to feel an explosion go off just a few feet away, his ears suddenly ringing painfully.

 _'Great,'_ he thought with some sarcasm, rubbing his ears until he could hear properly again. He'd worry about Kure All later, when he had an explosive lobbing counter-measure.

He walked back around the corner, toward the Dandy Dental signage, noting the First-Aid Station next to the door. It was another easy hack, a small rewarding twinge tickling his arm as he finished. Before he could walk into the Dentistry Office, his foot kicked a recording he hadn't seen. Tenenbaum, "Useless Experiment".

 _"At the German prison camp they put me to work on genetic experiments on other prisoners. They call me 'Das Wunderkind', the wonder child. Germans, all they talk about is blue eyes, and shape of forehead. All I care about is why is this one born strong, and that one weak? This one smart, that one stupid? All that killing, you think the Germans could have been interested in something useful."_

Once more, Jack had to take a breath at the strange way he felt; sniffing and wiping at his moistening eyes, his sinuses feeling heavy and his lip beginning to tremble. He stepped through the automatic door before he could contemplate the feeling too much longer. Rapture was already trying to weigh on him, and he didn't need any more of these odd occurrences.

Dandy Dental's front desk immediately greeted him with a soft melody of "the Best Things in Life are Free", one that Jack was wont to stop and listen too, but he knew he didn't have time for that. Hopping the desk, he was greeted by what looked like a Splicer's nest, collecting the five pistol rounds, two dollars, and more additions to his smoke pack.

As he walked into the main lobby for the business, unsurprised to see parts of the lower operation room submerged, he jumped as he heard the grinding of another automatic door to his immediate left, the shotgun raising with quick familiarity before he began to calm down, listening carefully to his surroundings as he kept his preferred weapon half-propped when he stepped forward. Up ahead was a machine with a recording at its base. To the right of that was another machine that reminded him of a turret, but didn't fire at him, and to the left was another Gatherers Garden, a murky grey Plasmid sitting on the broken machine's stand, steam jetting from the appliance's top and side. If the advertisements going in were any indication, heavy chances were, it was a Telekinesis Plasmid.

Taking a deep breath, he thought it over as he picked up the jar in question. Besides the ghosts and phantoms he saw in Rapture, he wasn't experiencing anything weird (unless he took Rapture as a whole, _then_ …), and he certainly felt fine otherwise. He looked over the Plasmid, unsure just how much more he'd have to splice his genetics.

 _'Just until Neptune's Bounty,'_ he had to think encouragingly, as he prepped his needle, using the tip of his Incinerate fingers to once more sterilize it. As he went about gaining a new Plasmid, he hit play on the recording by the machine. Suchong, "Testing Telekinesis".

 _"Clinical Trial Lot 23 Doctor Suchong – Client: Fontaine Futuristics. Work on telekinesis plasmid proceeding well. Lifting objects at distance present no problem. Moving objects through space, no problem. Cannot stop speeding bullet, but can catch and throw fast moving object. Problem not with plasmid. Problem with reaction time. …Suchong just get new idea for plasmid."_

Just as with the last recording, Jack felt something… he couldn't explain. His breath shuddering as he pressed harder into the wall, his jaw clenched, and he pulled his knees closer to his chest, trying to make himself smaller. It was all he could do not to curl up in a corner. He didn't know why, but he hated that voice. He hated it! He'd take Andrew Ryan's presumptuous tones over this Doctor Suchong any day.

The worst part was, he didn't know why.

Swallowing back whatever had happened, Jack jabbed the needle into his arm to keep from thinking about it further, the pain a more preferred distraction than... Doctor Suchong... as he pressed down the liquid once again. As he put his cursed needle away, he looked at his hands as nothing seemed to change in and around his veins like the last two Plasmids. "Another dud," he growled in frustration, preparing to leave.

The reaction was more violent than the last. He closed his eyes to take breath, only to feel as though he had been shot in the head again. This time, death didn't relieve him. The slow. Agonizing. Feeling of something piking through his skull and into his brain left vision blurred and ears ringing, intensifying in regular intervals, as if someone were pounding on a hammer. In the moments he thought it would subside, he was proven wrong when it dug deeper. He held his head in his hands, barely able to gasp through his clenched teeth. He felt himself reach out, a part of him touching his surroundings, as if he could feel dozens of hands grasping from his head, each false appendage covered in the rawest of nerves.

His eyes opened in time to see the results. Old trophies, tennis rackets, and even broken wood around the Gatherer's Garden; all of them… floating! Lifting!

He took a breath, unsure of what exactly he was seeing as the pain began to subside. Once it had faded to discomfort, the items dropped with a series of clutter, _Clunk!_ s, and _Clank!_ s that made Jack wince in reflex in the once silent environment.

"Hello? Who's there?" a female Splicer called.

"Oh, for fucks sake," he breathed through the feverish sweat, pushing to his feet with the mother-of-all headaches. He checked his shotgun before strapping it to his satchel, somewhat sore that it didn't have a shoulder strap.

He glanced down at the pistol in his belt, an experiment coming to mind as held out his hand, breathing as he willed the weapon to his grasp. Nothing.

"Now how do I use you?" He recalled the feeling he had experienced just a moment before, as if a malleable appendage extended from his head, and once again, his hand reached out to receive what he wanted. The pistol slipped from his waist, lifting smoothly until he felt it alight in his palm. He breathed, letting the feeling fade. The Telekinesis Plasmid took a surprising amount of focus, but with time, he figured it would work as easily as any of his others.

With that, he turned the corner to leave, noting the Splicer who had called out was looting another dead Splicer. Jack put his pistol in his off-hand once again as he drew his wrench, walking as quietly as could be permitted as he snuck up on her, smashing into the back of her neck. She dropped like all the others, yielding two dollars.

In the rest of Dandy Dental, he found two more bandages and three pistol rounds, still as bitter about stepping into the cold water as ever. However, there was a safe imbedded in the wall. As tempted as he felt about fiddling with it, he knew he was burning… daylight? How did one call the time when all he could see outside the massive windows was the city, and the swaying of the sea? Regardless, there were other places to check, and dwelling on the safe wasn't high on his priority list when there was more free-range loot lying about.

He followed the line of the wall to his left as he exited to the Dental foyer, killing and looting another hard-headed Splicer, taking her four pistol rounds, before continuing toward the Painless Dental when the Supply door didn't open. He could hear the rotating sound of a camera, quickly keeping his eyes sharp as he edged through the winded hallway. The moment he heard a turret chime, he dropped, his torso splashing into the cold water, causing him to suck in a sharp breath.

 _'Do I really have time for this?!'_ he chattered to himself, crawling on his knees back to a safe spot behind the wall. If time was really of the essence, he couldn't check every God-forsaken room in Rapture. That would be ridiculous. He was resolved to be quick, and if he had a little extra time after getting the key from Steinman, then he would explore a little more.

However…

He felt his head tighten like a vice as Telekinesis activated. That Kure All needed dealt with. Whatever that turret had shot him with, he wanted little more than to pulverize it, to take retribution for his death. He reached out a hand, attempting to grab a nearby rock. It lifted almost too easily this time, approaching at his beckon. If he imagined it like his other Plasmids, as if it was bound to his hands like the tattoos on his wrist, then it was easier to use; as if the Telekinesis were an invisible and formless extension of said hand. But in reality, he knew it wasn't. He didn't need his hand for the Plasmid; he smiled, knowing eventually, he'd be able to use it without direction, just as he had when it activated. It was a state of 'mind over matter' he would accomplish eventually.

Getting back to his feet, he headed back to the Kure All. Unsurprisingly, it was just as he left it, save he only now noticed the glowing green bottle sitting inside the door across from the entrance. However… He rounded the corner without hesitation, listening as the turret beeped, the launcher raising toward its newly acquired target.

 _Pshww!_ Jack barely registered a small red colored object flying at him as his hand shot out, the muscles in his hand straining as Telekinesis grabbed the object. With a small grunt, his fingers flicked, sending the object smashing into a wall with a _BOOOOM!_ He smiled slightly as another was launched at him, latching onto it before a small idea wormed its way into his mind. He turned the rocket around, and threw it back at its source, watching as the machine took the hit head-on. Besides the stream of smoke coming from its motor, it seemed undamaged.

"Are you kidding me?!" he snapped. Of course, Rapture made their turrets explosive resistant. Why not?! Raising his Plasmid again before the rocket had launched more than a couple feet from the turret, immediately sending it back. With a more satisfying result, the turret took the attack head on again, followed by a series of other explosions as its magazine self-detonated from the heat, destroying it from within and without.

He half-wondered if he should have hacked it, but then thought the better of it. If he got caught between a targeted Slicer and one of its payloads… he just wasn't _that_ keen to die. _AGAIN!_

"I heard you! Where are you?!" a female splicer called, approaching through the door on the far left leading further into the Kure All.

He swung and fired his pistol, the first shot missing pathetically as the second shot slammed into her chest, stunning her as she looked down at the now bleeding hole. Electro Bolt crawled through his veins as his left hand struck her chest, dropping her like a potato sack. He emptied her pistol, and his looting resulted in four pistol rounds and two dollars.

He quickly moved to the room the turret had occupied, looting it as quickly as possible. A Med-Kit, a couple Armor-piercing pistol rounds, four Anti-personal tommy rounds (if the label on the small opened box he found them in was anything to consider), nine dollars, and a bandage.

Jack pressed in deeper, his ear perking at the sound of a camera's sweep, looking for a way into the room with the Plasmid. With the door jammed, and no alternate way in, he was led into the remains of the Kure All offices, it's backroom leaking profusely from the ceiling as Jack instantly spotted a Hypo sitting atop one of the ducts. Reaching out, Telekinesis swiftly pulled the object to his grasp, so he could put it in his shoulder bag. _'Useful for combat and for grabbing hard-to-reach supplies,'_ he mused. Despite the fact that EVE was supposed to keep his Plasmids charged, his brow furrowed as he seemed to need less and less of the glowing blue stimulant for some odd reason.

As he looked up from pocketing the syringe, he spotted a vent leading directly into the wall opposite. Maybe…

He pulled off the vent grate, looking into small tunnel that, to his relief, turned straight into the isolated room. Checking around cautiously, he crawled into the tunnel, shivering as freezing cold water splashed onto his barely covered back. He pulled himself through and out, immediately greeted by an empty corpse and a cylinder of pistol rounds. He quickly gathered up the Buckshot and bandage on a container before he picked up the Plasmid bottle, its pale green contents making his skin look sickly in its glow.

Prepping his arm again for an injection that he didn't know would work or not, he went about sterilizing the needle, before withdrawing some of its contents and injecting it into his veins. His veins turned black at the point of entrance, fading quickly as it spread. But over the next few moments, nothing happened.

"Damn," he swore, packing it up as he went to crawl out of the room. _'The number of duds in this place,'_ he growled internally, shaking his head slightly. His grip on the wrench surprisingly tightened when he heard a female Splicer, gazing carefully out from his position in the vents.

There was one dead ahead, laughing as she swiped at the falling water, dancing in a puddle, enthralled to whatever illusion her madness kept her in. Jack snuck forward, his wrench head sparking slightly as Electro Bolt activated, and he carefully touched the jaws to the puddle she stood in. She fried, and he could only hope that she died quickly in her happy delusion.

He immediately moved toward the camera, finding some stairs just past a waterfall-like leak. Careful to avoid the red glare of death, he stepped into the frigged water that came up to his shins. He wadded quickly until he made it under the camera, hacking it with the same ease he had with many of the other machines. Again, he felt a rewarding spark jump up his arm as he finished his hacking, shaking his shoulders in confusion as he looked around. There was a Hypo, which he snatched up without a second thought, and a safe. Again, he passed over the safe, not wanting to spend too much time fiddling with it.

If he had time after saving Atlas's family, he might come back. There was still no guarantee that they would be able to leave for the surface immediately. A disappointing thought, but a realistic one.

Back up by the grate, amidst a bloody table, he picked up some pistol rounds and a recording, back tracking toward Steinman's as he listened. Suchong's "Enrage Trial".

 _"Clinical Trial Lot 44 Doctor Suchong – Client: Fontaine Futuristics. Subject is white male, one Roland Wallace. Can you hear me, Mister Wallace?"_

 _"Yes sir, Mister Suchong, sir."_

 _"Very well. Right, I'm introducing Lot 44 now…We've codenamed Lot 44 'Enrage' because of its tendancy to…"_ Jack heard Roland Wallace begin to scream frantically, crashing making its way through the recording _"Nurse, hold him down… Nurse! Nurse!"_ If the corpse next to the bed was any indication, she was probably the nurse.

Jack swallowed the bile that threatened the back of his throat as he pressed onward. He faced no resistance as he walked back to Dr. Steinman's Aesthetic Ideals, listening intently as his liberated turrets shot down a Splicer in cold blood just behind him as he continued through the door.

A long glass tunnel stretched out before him, making him shiver slightly since the last one he had been in had collapsed. To his right there was another hatch framed door that refused to open at his presence. And to the left, just outside there was another tunnel. He watched as some recording began to chime, not listening as he stared in wonderous horror at the sight of what Atlas had called a "Big Daddy" and a "Little Sister" roaming through the tunnel, the Daddy's moan causing Jack to shiver as it seemed to echo endlessly through the halls.

Gulping nervously, he hurried through the door at the far end, just in time to see another bloody message written on the floor as he beheld another set of mutilated pictures. "AESTHETICS ARE A MORAL IMPERATIVE!"

Even as he moved forward, he held fast at the sound of a voice that made his skin crawl.

"Why do we have two eyes? Because there's a law that says we must. Two arms. Two legs. Two ears. Two breasts." The following manic of laughter was deeper than any Jack had heard yet, and it only made him shiver at how out of place it was, even in a place like Rapture.

He stepped around the corner to see a Splicer dressed in orange scrubs, only for him to bolt upon seeing Jack. Before Jack could loose a Bolt or bullet, he tossed a "can" behind him, the explosion collapsing the over-hanging sign in the doorway he had disappeared through.

Jack's radio whirred with an incoming message. _"You'll have to find a way to get through to Surgery… and Steinman."_

"I know that," Jack stated, trying to keep the bite and frustration out of his voice. "I just don't know if I'll make it in time for your family. Preparing was too time consuming. I skipped over some areas just to hurry along. And I don't even know what will happen to me with all these Plasmids I've been injecting."

 _"Chin up now. The lord hates a quitter,"_ Atlas replied kindly. _"You're doing great boyo. I'm keepin' an eye on my family as best I can, but you're progressin' just fine."_

And he cut out again as Jack looked at the Surgery Foyer. To his left was the familiar glow of yet another Vita-Chamber (he couldn't even get mad at it at the point, given their seemingly random locations would continue to revive him… allegedly). Along with Med-Station and a Circus of Value machine, between which was an advertisement for free Plasmids at Dandy Dental (which he had already liberated).

Almost as quickly, a flicker of movement alerted Jack, prompting him to turn just as another can was thrown at him from a balcony right over the Circus of Value. Jack acted reflexively, Telekinesis swatting it aside with a wave of his hand like the nuisance it was. Then it exploded.

 _"I can hear that splicer soundin' off like it's the fourth of July,"_ Atlas called, _"Explosives are hard to come by down here–"_

"Clearly not!" Jack snapped, as he rolled back behind the wall, effectively blocking him from view and direct line of fire. "I've been on the receiving end of plenty of them already!"

 _"If only you could get a hand on some of the bombs he's tossin',"_ Atlas continued, ignoring Jack's harsh tone. _"Things like that can help you turn the tables, or clear a path."_

 _'I'll show you a hand,'_ Jack thought defiantly, marching back around the corner. The splicer was prepped, so the makeshift grenade was thrown like a fastball, barely giving him time to snatch it with his active Plasmid, throwing it against the debris with angered ease.

"Ah Christ!" the Splicer exclaimed, running back down through the door it had entered from. "'E's got Plasmids!"

 _'And fuck you too!'_ Jack growled, marching into the awaiting tunnel he had just cleared. Awaiting him was more of Steinman's work: a female splicer sitting dead in a wheelchair with another tape awaiting Jack's scrutiny. Steinman's "Symmetry".

 _"Today I had lunch with the Goddess. 'Steinman,' she said… 'I'm here to free you from the tyranny of the commonplace. I'm here to show you a new kind of beauty.'I asked her, 'What do you mean, goddess?' 'Symmetry, dear Steinman. It's time we did something about symmetry…'"_

Okay? Was symmetry a good thing or a bad thing? Jack didn't know, and if Steinman was as off his rocker as Jack thought he was (which may or may not have been a huge understatement), the "good doctor" probably didn't know either.

His own musings were quickly interrupted by one of the copter-bots, the red glow of its eye finding him to be a fantastic person to shoot at… before Jack nailed it with an Electro Bolt. Machine as it was, it short-circuited and fell to the ground, allowing Jack to find its panel and it's finger prick point with ease. Almost immediately, it made a series of rapid beeps before it's lights turned green, the strange machination suddenly hovering at his side like a long lost…

 _'Puppy?'_ Jack suddenly felt a queasy sensation in his stomach as he pushed on, not sure where it was coming from, but hating it none the less. Guilt, sorrow… he didn't know why he felt those things. His Ma and Pap hadn't owned a dog, despite how useful one would have been on the farm… but he couldn't remember why… hmmm.

He quickly looted the corpses in the room, gaining a few dollars and nothing more. He drew around the corner, met with a retracted metal gate that taunted him, as if guaranteeing that it would have the opportunity to trap him or prevent his escape. Past that, he could hear another turret winding up to fire. He aimed another Bolt around the gate, sprinting down the hall for all he was worth as it temporarily short-circuited, barely allowing him the time to bring it to his side.

There was a door next to the turret that Jack opted to temporarily ignore for now, turning around because of the glowing light he had seen as he ran after the turret. Another green glowing Plasmid lay in the middle of the water, just inside the half-crossed legs of a corpse that looked like it's face had been shoved into the wall. He picked it up, opting to move a little further ahead before he inserted it. He began moving toward the blood-splattered wall ahead. On either side were doors leading to a "Viewing Room", but on the right, Jack took the time to hack a First-Aid Station, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck tingle in warning. Wherever Steinman was, it had to be up ahead.

Knowing there was no better place before facing off against Steinman, he prepped his needle and injected the new Plasmid. Once again, it was a dud.

With an irritated sigh and his faithful rotor in tow, he entered, switching for his tommy gun (still unused) while keeping his other weapons as ready as he could make them. He wasn't sure how much ammo it would take, but he took a deep breath to steady his nerves before marching forward. Not even a few steps in, and he could see the infamous Steinman standing over a body on an operation table.

Jack crept closer, hoping that maybe… just maybe, this could go down without a fight. He knew better of course. Why else would his tommy gun be kept so close, half-poised in the firing position. It wasn't until he got close enough, that he realized Steinman was in the process of mutilating yet another body; this one still alive and crying.

"What can I do with this one, Aphrodite? She WON'T" The slurch of knife and flesh sounded quickly. "STAY." _Slurch!_ "STILL!" With a series of coughs, the splicer continued to sob as it's rent flesh bled. "I want to make them beautiful, but they always turn out wrong! That one…." Where the deranged doctor pointed to his left (Jack's right), light shone at his direction on a crucified splicer, clearly another one of his "art projects". "…Too Fat! This one…." Another splicer in a similar position to his right. "…Too Tall! This one…!" He spun around to yet another splicer behind him, his hands lifted in exasperation. "…Too Symmetrical! And now–" With a final drop of his blade, he finished off his latest project, his breathing taunt and rasped in anger.

"What's this, goddess?" Steinman looked up, just now noticing the man looking at him in absolute horror. "An intruder! He's ugly! Ugly! Ugly! UGLY!"

Jack barely comprehended Steinman pulling out a tommy gun, pointing it in his direction. By the time he did, his eyes widened as bullets began to let loose in rapid succession, shattering through the display window. Jack took a bullet to the gut before he had rolled out of the way, leaning against the wall Steinman continued to fire.

He winced, barely aware that his robotic companion's lights had turned a wrathful red, beeping obscenities that Jack couldn't even begin to translate. Barely a few steps in and Steinman had already tagged him.

If he was gonna last, he needed to fight like he had never fought before.

"Come here! Let me purge the world of your disgusting features. Don't worry, I'll be gentle," Steinman taunted, Jack's ears perking at the sound of a familiar _crackle_. "It's okay, goddess, I'll remove this unsightly creature from your presence. A pyre befitting a sacrifice."

 _'Fuck me! He's got a Plasmid!'_ Jack winced to himself, looking at his bleeding stomach weakly.

 _'I told ya that ya jinxed us,'_ he off-handedly commented back.

Jack's breath picked up in a panic as he heard Steinman's footsteps grow closer. He rumbled quickly into his satchel, knowing full-well that he wasn't going to last with a hole in his belly. As deftly as he could afford with what strength he could muster, he opened a Med-Kit as he kept his tommy raised just in case. He lifted his undershirt quickly, holding the blood-stained fabric in his teeth and with a quick jab to his abdomen, he released the red serum into his body. He took a deep breath as he felt the bullet crawling out of his gut before finally feeling the relief of its parting. As soon as he saw the scar tissue seal over, he was up in a heartbeat, groaning as the new muscles stretched for the first time.

He could hear his rotor's distinct machine fire facing off against Steinman's tommy, both having an angry bone to pick now that they had exchanged bullets. He stepped into the "Viewing Room" just in time to see a snap from Steinman, and the rotor burst into flames, drawing a low drone from its circuitry as it continued to press the assault.

"He brought his harpies, goddess! Nonono, don't worry. I won't fall so easily. I have your blessings! Blessings!" And Jack could see that was true… in a distorted sense. Despite taking hail after hail of the security drone's bullets, he looked relatively unharmed. His orange scrubs were littered with holes, and every now and then, Jack thought he saw a dislodged bullet roll away. Steinman either had a lot of ADAM in his system or he was hooked up to a lot of Med-Kit syringes. Plus he had a Plasmid that he was using often. It was no wonder the doctor had survived so long, becoming top of the Medical Pavilion's food chain.

Jack quickly took aim with his tommy before opening fire, almost caught by the surprising recoil, but stabilizing it none-the-less as he attempted to assist his mechanical companion. Shot after shot rang out in rapid succession, their echoes long since drowned out by the following and succeeding shots. Steinman still wouldn't fall. Within a few moments, Jack heard the click as his 40-round magazine emptied; unfortunately, the majority of his tommy ammo spent.

He swung the gun strap over his shoulder as Telekinesis pulled a nearby gas canister at his hands behest, tossing it at Steinman even as the surgeon _snap!_ ed his finger, causing the tank to explode between them. Jack was thrown back misshapenly against a drawer container, his back protesting in earnest as he tried to retain a grip on consciousness. It hurt. It hurt so bad. His eyes had seen the explosion point blank and were having a hard time clearing, whether from the bright light or the burns he couldn't be sure. His ears had caught the explosion in similar proximity, and now rang in violent protest. He couldn't even begin to guess how much of the canisters metal shrapnel had torn into him.

"I'm wounded, goddess," he barely heard above the ringing. "That ugly creature was formidable, but he doesn't have your protection goddess. Please, grant me your nectar, your ambrosia. Let me be whole and beautiful again."

Despite Jack's relatively dulled and pained state of mind, he comprehended the next moment. Steinman was going to heal. He either had a First-Aid Station in the room, or he had a stash of Med-Kits. He couldn't let him. Fighting Steinman once had already kicked him in the ass (present state evident). Fighting the man twice could prove to be deadly.

Jack followed the slosh of water as he turned to his left, looking down some stairs to see a flooded part of the room. If Steinman was in the water….

Jack didn't hesitate to switch to Electro Bolt, jolting the water. Hesitation could get him killed, and he wasn't ready to die… again.

Blinking carefully through his squinted and blurred vision, he slowly lowered himself down into the frigid water as the last sparks died, Telekinesis piercing through his aching head as he lifted the shotgun strapped to his satchel, barely able to keep it aloft with his weakened state. He could barely see the First-Aid Station up ahead, it's red glow pointing it out, but there wasn't a body in front of it. What were the chances that the electrically charged water had killed Steinman? Jack wasn't taking any chances.

 _Snap!_

Before Jack could step to much farther in, he was enveloped in flames. Hot, musty, dry, blistering, agonizing flames that crackled and immediately began eating at him like an acid. He had only been burnt a few times in his life, but nothing so painful or all-encompassing as this. He flailed almost reflexively, trying and failing to rid himself of the orange tendrils that grasped at his flesh as he kicked around in the water-

 _'Water!'_ He all but dived into the shallows, feeling more than hearing the sizzle of extinguish as his body groaned in pleasure, slowly being replaced by a sting as the saltwater cleansed the cracked and blistered scabs in sterilizing discomfort. He began to push up in relief, before something pushed him back down. He tried to get up again, but a weight had settled on his back.

Something enveloped the back of his head as he tried to skim the surface, hoping to catch just a breath of air, pushing him far enough under the shallows that he could feel the floor grazing his cheek.

He panicked, struggling futilely to push up, to push away. Unlike when he was clawing toward the surface after the plane crash, the surface was just a couple inches away, denied to him by the weight holding him down.

Steinman. It had to be him. Taking revenge for Jack almost ending his miserable and abominable existence. The electricity hadn't worked. He was still alive, and Jack didn't have anyway of fighting back now, especially when he felt the water heating from the doctor's fiery Plasmid. He could only hope that he would revive again, and Steinman would be dumb enough to forget about healing since his only present foe would be vanquished. It was a pleasant thought, but a foolish one as he began to lose consciousness. His already scarred vision was blurring further as the idea of death no longer seemed to faze him now. He was already dying. Suddenly the idea of death was a welcome one. A temporary relief before he was once again cast to this Wonderland-turned-Hell. He could relax, and just let it take him.

For the first time since Jack came to Rapture, he smiled. For the first time since randomly sinking into this Hellish scape, he wasn't afraid. For the first time, he accepted the fact that he would wake up in one of those God-forsaken tubes that would beckon him back to the land of the living.

And in the throws of a cold, slow death, he began to hum to himself. Some tune he had heard once, one that resonated in his chest with a pleasant melancholy despite his lungs screaming for oxygen. Where did he hear it? He wasn't sure, but it was something he had thought back on often on the family farm, like a pleasant dream that wasn't quite clear, but he never forgot.

 _'Hm-hm-hm-hmm, hm-hmmm-hmmm-hmmmm, hm-hm-hmmm-hm-hmmm,'_ he hummed pleasantly.

 _"Just remember, when a dream appears; you belong to me,"_ the silence sang back.

Yeah. That was the tune–

Jack eyes opened wider in recognition, suddenly wide awake. It had to be the lack of oxygen in his brain. It had to–

 _"And I'll be so alone without you,"_ the silence continued in the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. _"Maybe you'll be lonesome too. And blue._

 _"Fly the ocean in a silver plane, see the jungle when it's wet with rain; Just remember 'till your home again, you belong to me."_

Vague though it was, Jack noticed a glow emitting through the haze. Soft. Warm. Emitting from his arms like a gentle ray of sunlight he had long forgotten down here; his veins aglow. The warmth spread, trailing down through his shoulders and into his chest, down his abdomen and up through his neck. It spread until there was no part of him untouched by it. It was pleasant, perhaps even painful if Jack was aware of pain anymore.

And with it came an even stranger feeling. The buzz of Electro Bolt activating passively in his hands as the blue glow seemed to spread over the sunlight, blotting it out with a haunting light that seemed to take over Jack in his entirety. The soft tingling feeling of his Plasmid was everywhere: throughout his body, in the water, down to his very soul. The Plasmid wasn't a storm caged in his body anymore.

He was the storm.

And the storm demanded release. _He_ demanded release!

And so, it did. The Plasmids activation was like none Jack could ever describe, as not just his arms, but his body lurched and tensed, his overcharged nerves releasing the storm in all directions. The water crackled and hissed, the blue arcs jumping over the water like sea serpents as they attacked and bit at his oppressor. What didn't attack the weight on his back, bound back to him, fueling some innate desire to live as his own power jolted back into him.

What felt like an eternity later, but was truthfully only a few moments, Jack was vaguely aware of crawling up some stairs, his body moving autonomously against his mind and desires. What's more, he noticed he wasn't underwater anymore, and his lungs were already greedily gulping at the stale air.

He was... alive? If he wasn't it sure as Hell sucked to be dead.

Vaguely, he could feel Electro Bolt still crawling over his body, arching through the holes in his undershirt or sparking through the strands of his hair, but he didn't care, he was tired, and only mostly dead. With no grace or dignity in mind, he plopped down, laying on the cool floor as he breathed. He didn't know where Steinman was, and he didn't care. He just wanted to rest. And it was with heavy lids that his eyes finally closed, giving him the sleep he so longed for.

Once his eyes had firmly shut, he was already asleep... dreaming. Probably one he would forget as soon as he woke up. And the only thing he dreamed of was the eyes that encompassed the depth of the sea, and the color of the azure sky he longed to see and breath once again. And for some reason, those eyes look _so_ familiar.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** **Would You Kindly Read & Review! :)**

Hey guys!

Some interesting developments regarding Jack and his newly found Plasmids :D Trust me, that ain't nothin' yet.

I was going to cover the whole of the Medical Pavilion, but then I realized, realistically, Jack is in a crunch for time. He isn't at ease to leisurely stroll through the land of Rapture, he's trying to save a guy's family. Admittedly, it was kind of out of the blue, but some of it will give me something to go back to.

Jack has ran into quite a few of those "dud" Plasmids (*wink, wink*). Admittedly, not all of them will be what you guys expect from the original game, and this will be in part to the "The Constant becomes a Variable; and the Variable becomes a Constant".

I will admit, I made Steinman more powerful than in the game. Before you start loading your muskets and lighting your torches, I have a reason. The game made him too weak, as it did with most other "bosses". Part of that may have been strategy, but I felt compelled to give him a little more... _oomph!_ Hopefully I didn't totally screw the character.

I'll let you guys go ahead and ruminate on that last scene (Meheheheheh!)

Take care, and don't forget to Review! Let me know your Questions, Comments, and Concerns (QCC) :)

Until next time. Possibly to be called _Chapter 5: The Price of Humanity;_ possibily followed by _Chapter 6: Into the_ _Briny_ or _A Shark Among Fish_. (I know I'm a little ahead on the chapter names, but that just goes to show how dedicated I am to finishing this story)


	6. Chapter 5: the Cost of Humanity

**A/N:** SteinMon1920518 here again.

Sorry for the delay. I put my main story on hiatus to hopefully get this out, and from there, it was a downward spiral. First was the writer's block, then the lethargy set in, and _then_... to top it off with a cherry, the fan to the computer I was using quit working, so then I had to get that fixed. That's still in the shop, so I just got a new computer instead. The minority issue with getting this chapter out was that I didn't know if I wanted to make the Medical Pavilion a two-chapter or three-chapter endeavor. But alas, I have returned _finally_... lets just get this going, shall we?

 _ **Review Responses:**_

\- MartyrFan: Sounds good, but then again, it's technically non-lethal, since it decimates all but 1 Health, and stays that way no matter how often you do it.

I think the worst part about Jack's memories is that he has them all, but most of them are forcibly repressed, and others are just fake. But we've seen throughout the game that some things keep cropping to the surface, giving us little tidbits that something is wrong. But since he probably spent the most time with Tenenbaum and Suchong, their influences had the most effect on him.

Actually, I'll have it resolved in this chapter... or at least partially. It's not quite like yours, but it uses elements that I thought were realistic, and integrated pretty well.

Ahhhh! I can't say anything without SPOILERS! Just wait and read. Reasons for what will be explored.

I'm not sure if Jack _is_ such a moral blank slate. We forget that Jack has a whole set of implanted memories. Granted, there are a lot of holes and gaps, but what is filled in gives him some sense of right and wrong, justice and vengeance, mercy and brutality. Rapture skews those morals for sure, but that in and of itself will undoubtedly shape him.

\- razmire: Fair enough I suppose. Ah! The Armored Shell tonic. One of my fav's early on. Less applicable mid-game once you have things down pat, but really nice for that final fight.

\- "Joe" & "Bob": Well, here it is!

 ***End of Responses**

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

 **Chapter 5: The Cost of Humanity (To Fell a Giant)**

 _"_ _Subject is showing remarkable recovery rates," a strangely broken voice said in the darkness. "However, with the way the war is advancing, there is no guarantee it will survive."_

 _"_ _Even with the Ryan's blast'd tubes keepin' 'im goin'?" another voice seemed to sneer._

 _There must have been a nod, because the first voice continued. "Certainly. But it is not just about the Vita-Chambers or the machines. It will be competing with residents that have been splicing far longer than it has. Even if it can come back from death, it still has to grow stronger fast enough in a short amount of time to compete with the rest of Rapture."_

 _"_ _Wha' abou' all the programming? All those little tricks and skills he's gowt up 'is sleeve?"_

 _"_ _Please Mister Fontaine, you will do well not to refer to 'it' as a 'he'. It's barely human as is," the first voice chastised. "But those skills will still need to be utilized before they sink in. Plasmids and mental conditioning can only do so much."_

 _"_ _I don't need to tell you how much is riding on this and your little lab experiment, Suchong," the second voice snapped. "I need your little lab pet up and running, with customer satisfaction guaranteed."_

 _There was a brief pause. "Th're is… one thing we could try."_

 _"_ _I'm listenin'."_

 _"_ _It will take longer to condition it, but… theoretically, there are ways to… augment him that aren't necessarily… public. Specifically, tonics. But if I'm correct, there may be a way to stall the effect. Create a delayed gene activation using the Plasmid-Mental phrasing."_

 _"_ _Isn't there already an activation phrase? You still haven't told me wha' it is."_

 _"_ _Close, but not quite. That is part of the compulsive mental conditioning program we use on the little brats. This. This will be a complete stalling of genetic activation until the phrase is said. Once activated, it will become as permanent as any Plasmid. Perhaps even more so. The problem is… funding such a project."_

 _There was a muttered growl. "Yur a real bastard, aren't ya Suchong. Fine! How much?"_

 _"_ _Mister Fontaine," the first voice said with a little more cheer. "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement. Perhaps–"_ Kshhhhhh-brrrr-rrrrrr-shhhhh!

* * *

 _"'–_ _Shhhhhhhhhhh–Krrrrrrrrrr!'"_

"Uhhhhh!"

 _"'_ _Krrrrksshhhhh–' 'Ello? Boyo?!"_

His eyes furrowed slightly in rejection, trying to fall back asleep. He didn't want to wake up. His head was pounding, and his body was sore all over. Overall, it felt like someone had sent him head-first into a woodchipper, and he'd lived to tell the tale.

"Fuckin' door-to-door salesmen," he muttered trying to lay peacefully on his arm. Suddenly he was aware that the ground was wet, and somewhat slimy. Jack opened his eyes begrudgingly at the odd texture, and– oh…?

…Yeah. Rapture.

 _"_ _Jack! Are ya there boyo?! Answer meh damnit!"_

He hissed as he rolled over, his whole body jerking as he landed on his shoulders, trying to keep his own tears from adding any more saltwater to the already flooded city. His muscles hadn't felt that sore since he was a kid milking the cows for the first week. Every breath made a sharp pain stab into his ribcage, every twitch was like a hundred needles jammed into his muscles. As carefully as possible, he reached down, unhooking the radio from his pants, and brought it up to his mouth.

"Present," he groaned weakly, his tongue feeling like lead and tasting like shit. Given the unsanitary conditions he was lying in, this was a possibility. One he'd rather never think of again.

 _"_ _Aw Christ! Ya gave meh a heart attack for a moment there,"_ Atlas stated, his voice heavy with relief.

"How long was I out?" Jack asked, suddenly wishing he had a jolt or two of adrenaline to dull the pain. It had been working so far. God only knew how much of his pain was from fighting Steinman, and how much of it was simply from being in Rapture for the past… how long?

 _"_ _Twenty minutes, give ur take,"_ he answered. _"Thought Steinman had done ya in."_

" _Nope_ ," he groaned, pushing himself up. "Speaking of which, where is Steinman?"

As if to answer his question, Jack turned back toward the flooded area just behind him. A single Splicer lay face down in the water, unmoving. The orange scrubs Steinman had worn were scorched with holes, some of the material looking melted to his skin in some areas.

"Nevermind," Jack amended. "He's dead." And the radio still worked after being drowned in water. At least Rapture knew how to waterproof something important.

 _"_ _You alright?"_ Atlas asked, the urgency in his voice corralled by concern.

"Maybe?" Jack wondered solemnly, unable to take his eyes away from his handiwork. "I know it's dumb, but it feels different this time. Every other Splicer was just a nameless face I could bludgeon or shoot. But I have a name for this one, so I guess… killing him just felt a little more real."

 _"_ _Don' you dwell on that boyo. It was time somebody took care of that sick bastard,"_ Atlas stated. _"His mind was lost long before ADAM."_

Jack took a deep breath, ignoring his screaming sides as he did so. "I don't regret it," he stated reassuringly, pushing himself to stand. He gently began to walk through the water, his toes cringing at the cold, yet welcoming the numbness it brought, as he moved for the First-Aid Station. Hacking it took a little more time than normal as he tried to work without inviting pain into his limbs, but he gave himself some space considering the state he was in. With a quick sterilization from Incinerate, he blindly paid the machine and let the needle do its work as his aching body began to slowly fade back normal. Still, it did little for the apparent exhaustion he felt. "Alright. I'm patched up and ready to go."

 _"_ _Make sure you get the key off of Steinman and head back to Emergency Access,"_ Atlas directed, a small smile to his voice. _"I'm working my way to the back side of Port Neptune meself. We'll get there soon enough."_ And he cut out.

Jack nodded to no one, turning from the Station to a desk in the middle of the water. He quickly grabbed the Med-Kit laying on its surface, bypassing a standing safe completely. Again, for another time maybe.

He proceeded back to his fallen nemesis, the pinnacle of the Medical Pavilion, before pulling him to the stairs to properly search his pockets. He found the key – some card shaped thing with indents and ridges – along with a full magazine of Tommy rounds, as well as over half a magazine of Tommy Anti-Personal rounds. In the end – despite being a lot more difficult, and Jack knowing his name – he was just like every other Splicer Jack had encountered. Dead, and looted.

He quickly checked his weapons and their ammo, reloading his machine gun with his newly acquired full-set of ammunition. When he was ready, he walked back the way he'd come, his steps more stable now that he was healed up.

It wasn't until he passed his recently acquired turret and Surgical Savings that he heard the Splicers.

"Do ya think 'e got 'em?" "Is it really such a good idea to find out, darling?" "What if Steinman won?" "Maybe 'e'll let us clean up the scraps."

Of course, that all changed when they saw Jack, pistol in hand and looking like he'd been caught in an explosion (because he had).

"'E's alive! Get 'im!"

Jack grumbled, half glancing at a divider bar before Telekinesis brought it over to him. With a gentle twist of his hand, he began to spin it at the shaft. While it wasn't sharp, it didn't matter. The moment he launched it, it corkscrewed through two Splicers that had been foolish enough to line up, impaling through them like a spear.

The first one leapt at him, clipping Jack in the jaw with a piece of rebar. He barely felt the reflex, a concussive wave blasting around him, sending the Splicer flailing into the last. Jack hissed at his smartened chin, tromping over to the downed two before they understood what was happening.

Another idea formed in his head as his veins began to crackle with red fury, Incinerate licking up his entire left arm. The Splicers. They whimpered and cowered, their arms held up in surrender. Maybe. Just maybe.

"Do you want to live?" he growled, earning him flinches. He couldn't help but smile bitterly at their cowing.

"Yes, yes," one answered quickly, his ugly head nodding rapidly, keeping his palms up in surrender. "Anything," he huffed. "Anything."

The other wasn't so cooperative. "Fuck you!" He spat, missing Jack by a mile, but it was the action that counted.

Jack's fiery hand latched onto the side of his face, the flames growing hotter as it consumed Splicer flesh. The second one screamed in agony, trying to pry Jacks hand away, but only serving to burn his own hands as he touched his arm. Jack returned his gaze to the more compliant Splicer, glaring at him. "You tell every Splicer you find that Steinman is dead. And you tell them that I killed him. Understood? Otherwise–" He let another scream from the other Splicer do the talking for him.

The Splicer whimpered, nodding silently as he watched his companion from the corner of his eye, just before Jack put a pistol to the burning Splicers head, and pulled the trigger, blood splattering onto with face without a flinch. "Now go. GO!"

The last living Splicer of the group scrambled, his slightly too long arms and legs scratching and clawing to get away, not even bothering to look back at a disheartened Jack.

"Sometimes, it's better to be feared," he mumbled, keeping his tears locked away before they could catch him off guard again. He had to be hard. He couldn't let Rapture get to him. Fear was the most effective method down here. And if it got a few more Splicers off his back, even better. He just never thought that _he_ would become the object of that fear.

He absently looted the three Splicers he killed, pulling in fourteen dollars before he trudged onward. The Surgery Foyer was thankfully devoid of life, save for the lively glow of the Vita-Chamber; the group he'd just killed probably the only ones brave enough to venture into Steinman's territory. But just as he was about to leave through the gear door, he heard another crash, and the floor shook beneath him.

His radio whirred to life. _"Sounds like another tunnel collapse."_

"Fucking serious?" Jack sighed. He half hoped that it didn't collapse on that Splicer he had spared. It would suck if his half-formulated plan went to shite before it had even been executed.

 _"_ _I know. Welcome to Rapture: The World's Fastest Growin' Pile of Junk."_

Jack smirked at that, moving into the glass tunnels. Before he'd stepped more than a foot, his vision flashed like a camera bulb, hazy images of a hand holding a cigarette gradually growing further back with each flash. As if to add to the ambiance, a distorted cry of agony seemed to accompany the display.

Jack quickly stabilized himself before he tipped over, shaking his head. He hoped that wasn't a side-effect of the ADAM. He continued moving through the hall as it continued to shake, some of the concrete overhead dusting down on him. He was quick to note once he had moved around the pillar island that the tunnel ahead was leaking water and slightly askew, the door crumpled inward. "Jesus."

Luckily, there was another door opened to his left, one that hadn't opened when he went past previously. Down it, he could make out what looked like a fallen pillar and broken piping. However–

" _MMMUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH!_ " something bellowed. A Big Daddy. Sounds of gunfire accompanied it, followed by a moan of agony.

" _Mister B!_ " And his Little Sister.

Jack groaned to himself softly. _'No where to go but forward.'_ The least he could do was not get caught up in whatever fight was ensuing. He decided to sneak forward, so as not to draw attention to himself when he walked past whatever chaos was commencing.

A scream sounded, just before an enormous body flew through a window, smashing into a pillar with a deep wail. The Big Daddy sat in front of him, its multiple eye lights flickering as flames danced across it. A moan echoed from its diving suit, a large hand lifting toward the next room before it let out one, deep, moan. Its hand collapsed and it stood still.

"Com'ere little girl," a Splicer cackled. "Hold still so I can take yur ADAM."

" _No! No-no! Go away!_ "

His radio whirred. _"It's a little one. Here's your chance to get some ADAM."_

Jack was just in front of the broken glass window, next to the door leading into the next room. A Splicer dressed in dirty white scrubs was looming over a Little Sister, a small club in his hand that he prodded almost pointedly at her stomach.

"It's just you, and me, and all the tasty ADAM I can drink," it whispered.

Jack's throat constricted at the tone. Hunger. The Splicer's tone was pure lust and hunger. The way it looked at the Little Sister, like she was a meal. It's next fix. It curdled in Jack's stomach and set the back of his neck prickling in disgust. It was such a vile sound, and Jack felt something absolutely ugly wash over him, as if the tone itself made him feel unclean. And with it came an angry swell in the core of his chest. Interesting; he didn't know what to call this feeling.

The Little Sister screamed as she tripped backwards, the Splicer's club lifted overhead with a wicked grin on his face shadowing through his surgery mask.

" _Daddy!_ " she screamed.

Jack didn't know what he was doing. Of course he didn't. Only an idiot would intervene. Which was why he was stunned when he plowed through the window's remaining glass, tackling the Splicer before he could strike. They tumbled to the side, the Splicer's flailing smacking Jack in the back with his club, triggering a formless pulse, knocking them both away from each other.

He rolled away, gripping his pistol in both hands as he landed on his back, shooting the Splicer in the head from between his own feet. The bullet bounced off, slightly whipping the Splicer's head back; another hard-headed Splicer. He adjusted his aim only slightly, shooting the Splicer in the throat. Once. Twice. The bullets embedded into its flesh as it croaked, unable to wail from Jack's adrenaline-fueled accuracy.

Fire sprouted at the Splicers fingers. Of course! The Big Daddy had been on fire! Jack's own Incinerate crawled over his hand as the Splicer _snap_ ped. Jack felt it barely touch him before his veins began to glow molten lava up and down his body, fighting fire with fire as his own internal flames sought the Splicer's flames before they could catch hold of him. Eating. Consuming until all that remained was a shocked Splicer, and an equally puzzled, but slightly more energized, Jack.

"Oh right," he wondered aloud, vaguely remembering that his Electro Bolt had done something similar with Steinman. Although… he had been electrocuting water at the time. And half-conscious. And hallucinating. Fascinating; it was real after all. He wasn't crazy!

The Splicer was less fascinated as it grabbed its club from the ground, throwing it, and hitting Jack square in the forehead. Jack felt that jerk reflex again, this time as a blast of fire erupted around him, catching the Splicer on fire in an instant. Truly fascinating.

 _'_ _Save the introspection for later!'_ he chided himself.

Jack snatched his shotgun latched to the satchel at his side, firing literally from the hip as the buckshot slammed into the Splicers head, spraying its brain behind it in a gruesome display that he was already used to. Hard head or not, his weapon was deadlier at close range.

He sighed as his head limply fell back to the floor, closing his eyes for a moment to reconstitute himself. When he opened them again, yellow orbs were right over him, staring down with ghoulish fascination. Startled, he leapt up too quickly, both of their heads ramming into each other.

" _Ouchie_ ," the little girl complained, rubbing her forehead.

"Ow," Jack groaned, scooting away from the Little Sister as he tried to regain his bearings. Right. She had ADAM. He looked back over to see her fiddling with his dropped pistol. "Hey! Don't play with that!"

Startled, she dropped the weapon, causing it to misfire into the wall with a loud ricochet that Jack swore was too close for comfort. "Jesus Christ kid!" he snapped, his hands half-covering his head as his gaze darted around, as if the bullet would somehow sneak up and bite him in the rear.

She back away, whimpering and tripping over herself as she moved toward her extinguished, but very dead, Big Daddy; grunting as she tried to push up its enormous arm and hide under it.

Sighing irritably, Jack walked over to his fallen weapon, bending down to pick it up, but his ire didn't last long. Half-chuckling to himself in amusement at the near miss, he began moving toward the little girl, still unsure how he was supposed to get ADAM from her. Maybe from one of those big-ass needles he'd seen before? There was that glowing red jar on it.

 _Click-click!_ "Don't. Move." Something thin and cold pressed against the back of his head, causing him to inhale sharply. "You will stay away from her, or it is you who will be shot next." Jack swallowed nervously. Sure there was probably a Vita-Chamber _somewhere_ nearby, but why test fate, right?

Despite his impending death and resurrection, _again_ , his voice fell short before it could even form. His eyes widened slightly, and his face lost all its tension. His breathing hitched as he tried to inhale, shuddering as he swallowed heavily. Once again, tears threatened the corners of his eyes, and he felt… happy? … truly, for the first time since setting foot in Rapture; and yet it felt like years since the last time he'd felt it.

And he didn't know why.

Thankfully….

 _"_ _Easy now, Doctor,"_ his radio responded for him. Despite his rather brisk appearances, Jack gave Atlas one thing: impeccable timing. _"He's just looking for a wee bit of ADAM. Just enough to get by."_

The click of heels drew Jack's attention as he watched someone move around from the corner of his eye, the gun barrel's pressure leaving his head, but clearly the aim was still true. He risked a glance up, meeting the eyes of his captor. He'd say one thing: she was easily the most normal looking person he'd _seen_ in Rapture thus far.

Her more mundane attire was hidden under a long pink swing coat, large brass buttons holding it closed. The material was dirtied with grim, and the buttons were faded, and yet the current application clearly wasn't aesthetic, but for warmth in the underwater city.

The woman herself was younger than he had anticipated. Mid- to Late- thirties at least. And… German? Austrian? Jack didn't know a lot about accents, but it was his best guess. Her brunette hair was surprisingly well kept, her face clean; despite the conditions of Rapture. She appeared cosmetic free, with a slight pout or frown to her lips that made her seem indifferent; but made even less so by her hardened green eyes that bored into him accusingly.

At his radio's broadcast, she turned, eyeing the radio clipped to his pants before quickly looking back at Jack, reassuring him that she wasn't going lax in her aim. She gently nodded to Jack, and he slowly pulled up the device in understanding.

"I'll not have him hurt my little ones," she growled at the radio, still giving him that stink-eye.

"Hurt?" Jack asked, clearly missing something. "Why would I hurt her? I just want her ADAM."

" _Unwissender Dummkopf_ ," she hissed at him. "That will kill her."

That revelation settled in Jack's stomach like a block of lead, turning to look at the Little Sister still hiding under the arm of her Big Daddy, peeking out slightly to watch what the adults were talking about. His shock must have shown, cause the woman also looked surprised as she lowered her gun. "You did not know?"

He didn't answer, still processing what he was hearing.

 _"_ _It's okay, lad,"_ Atlas reassured. _"That's not a child. Not anymore it ain't. Doctor Tenebaum saw to that. The ADAM's produced by a slug in that little monster's stomach. All ya gotta do is take it out."_ Okay, gruesome. But if the Little Sisters were really like the rest of Rapture, than they were beyond saving, regardless of what Jack thought of the methods.

But still, Doctor Tenenbaum? _Thee_ Doctor Tenenbaum from the audio diaries? The voice had been familiar enough he supposed; but realizing now that he had a name to the face was something else altogether. _And_ , as an added bonus, she was in her right mind, even if she had been pointing a gun at him. But, from what he had to go on about her, he shouldn't be all surprised she had created the Little Sisters.

Still though, there was something… familiar in her voice. Every time he'd heard it, he'd felt something… strange.

He shook his head. Survival was key. He couldn't hesitate. There might not be forgiveness for the things he'd have to do, but if those children were so far gone that they couldn't be saved anyway… well, Jack didn't like it, but mercy didn't always come cheaply. And if some good came from his sins, then who was he to judge?

As if sensing his intentions, Tenenbaum's hand snagged his wrist before he could step anywhere. " _Bitte_ , do not hurt her!" She ensured her hold was secure before staring him straight in the eye, her tone only half-pleading. The other half was easily prepared to put a bullet in his brain. "Have you no heart?"

 _"_ _Aye, that's a pretty sermon coming from the ghoul who cooked up them creatures in the first place. Took fine little girls and turned them into that, didn't you?"_ Jack watched as Atlas' words seemed to physically strike Tenebaum, her grip slackening on Jack's wrist. She seemed to notice something else about where she had gripped, because her face seemed to age right before his eyes.

He lifted his arm for his own inspection, wondering what had caused such a reaction. Well, there was the glow of a Plasmid in his veins. It let her know he was armed. Maybe the track marks on his arm from the Med-Kits and Hypos? It wasn't exactly appealing, especially dotted along his upper forearm. He looked like an opiate junkie.

 _"_ _Listen to me, boyo: you won't survive without the ADAM those… things… are carrying. Are you prepared to trade your life, the lives of my wife and child for Tenenbaum's little Frankensteins?"_

That was _thee_ question indeed.

"Here," Tenenbaum said, her tone much softer. "There is another way." Jack turned to see her holding out a Plasmid bottle (unlabeled… again), its whitish glow reminding him of moonlight.

"Um," he hesitated, taking the bottle. "What does it do?"

"This will free them from their torment," she answered. "It will allow you to cure them."

 _"_ _There is no cure for the Little Sisters boyo,"_ Atlas rebuked. _"Jack, you need every edge you can get in Rapture. It won't hesitate to sink its claws into ya."_

He looked at the Plasmid, then at the Little Sister peeking at him, then back at Tenenbaum. "Why?"

"To give you another option… because you are among the few left to freely choose," she whispered. "But your choice must be soon. She will not last long without her Big Daddy. If you will do nothing, than I will take her with me." Tenenbaum retreated to the door, holding her elbows as she waited for his decision.

 _"_ _Boyo?"_

Atlas was right: he needed ADAM. He could get it from the Sister, but that would require him to… kill her. However, if she was anything like the residents of Rapture, then it would be better off if the poor thing was dead. He'd get his ADAM.

But Tenenbaum said she had a cure. She was the woman who had created the Little Sisters in the first place, and Jack wasn't sure how far he could trust her. But… what if? What if it really did cure the Little Sister? If he had the opportunity to cure her, but chose instead to kill her, would he be able to live with that.

Jack thought fast. God only knew how fast. There was so much to consider, and so little time to sort through it all. But there was a way to satiate his conscience. He had an idea, but–

His head pulsed and pounded, a faint ringing in his ears seemingly causing his vision to swim and warp. He held his head for a moment before noticing his nose was bleeding. Sighing in frustration, he wiped it with his dirty undershirt.

Sighing heavily with a slight groan as his head cleared, he brought the radio to his lips. "Atlas…."

 _"_ _What is it, Jack?"_

"…I'm gonna cure the Little Sister." Jack watched as Tenenbaum's gaze rose to his, her eyes wide with surprise, and brimming with unshed tears of relief.

 _"_ _But wha' about–"_ "Oh, thank y–" They both tried speaking over Jack at once.

"There's a catch," he interrupted, glancing at Tenenbaum, making sure his next words sunk in. "A compromise. If I can save the Little Sister, than I will. But if this turns out to be a fluke, or another dud, or just some whoppin' can of bull, I won't hesitate to give her peace. Even if it means killing her." He didn't even know he could sound so cold. So menacing. He was half taken back at his own words and tone.

"I'm not doing this for you Tenenbaum," he clarified, glaring at the woman who could do that to little girls in the first place. "I'm doing this, because she deserves the _chance_ to get better." Because that's what it was, wasn't it? A sickness?

Tenenbaum's words failed her as she opened her mouth to speak, but only nodded in understanding, accepting his conditions.

 _"_ _What about my wife?! My son?! They deserve the chance to leave this city, don't they?!"_ Atlas snapped.

Jack's lips tensed as he brought the radio closer. "I promised I would help, Atlas. But what would they think if there was a chance to save someone else down here?"

 _"_ _This is Rapture kid. It's everyone for themselves, and Tenenbaum is playing you for a sap. Even if those Sister's look like wee little girls, looks don't make it so. You'll need all the ADAM you can get to survive, mark my words."_

Jack inhaled sharply. "Then I guess it's lucky for you and your family that I'm not from Rapture. You know, since everyone here is out for themselves." Atlas went silent after that, and Jack couldn't be happier for the moment.

Ultimately, it was his choice, and he had made it.

Jack plopped down on the ground in frustration, pulling out his needle and going through the motions of injecting a Plasmid. Unlike the other duds, the veins around the injection sight didn't go black. _'Huh. Is it like Telekinesis?'_ There had been a slight delay in activation.

"Is it supposed to work like this?" he asked Tenenbaum, raising an inquiring eye.

She nodded hesitantly, turning to look past him. "It was made to work in contact with the little ones."

Jack followed her gaze to see the Little Sister had come out from under the dead Big Daddy's arm, slightly hunched over and head turned; like she was trying to see around his back to what he was doing. _'Probably wondering why I haven't attacked her yet?'_ He didn't smile at her, only stared. He wasn't going to smile when he might have to take her ADAM; ergo: kill her. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to get it, but he wouldn't worry about that until it was necessary.

He held up his hand, offering it to her, like… like she was a little girl that needed help. She flinched back, beginning to whimper in that dual tone of hers. _'Oh God! If she starts crying-'_ He didn't even know if he could fight a Big Daddy right now.

"It is okay little one," Tenenbaum encouraged quickly, catching the girl's attention. Strangely, neither of them seemed afraid of each other. "It is okay. He is nice man."

The Sister looked back at Jack again, her eyes widening as she looked at the Splicer he had killed, before looking back at him. " _He saved me from the bad man and made him an angel._ " She said this as though she had just come to this realization herself. " _Is he a knight?_ "

Jack couldn't help the twitch that threatened the corner of his mouth. If she wasn't so creepy looking, her antics would almost be adorable… in an eerie sort of way.

"It is okay," Tenenbaum ushered, smiling as both her and the Little Sister slowly approached Jack. Within a few moments, he sat cross-legged between Tenenbaum and the Little Sister. The latter was still shying away from him, leaning more toward Tenenbaum than him. He guessed they were conditioned that way, since Tenenbaum did sort of… create them. "Here, _Herr_ Jack."

Tenenbaum gently pulled his hand from his knee, guiding it over to the child. He hesitated, flinching back just a hairsbreadth from feeling her grayed flesh. He was afraid. Something so small, and he was afraid of her, even as she looked at him with those innocently haunting yellow eyes. The Sister evidently didn't like waiting, so she slapped her palm on his. It was strange, to see a hand so small compared to his own.

She was cold. That was the first thing he noticed. The second was that she smelled like sewage and rot; probably from living down there for so long. Those creepy yellow eyes looked down at their palms, her eyes widening in confusion.

"It's not working Doc," Jack stated.

"It is like any other Plasmid," she stated, as though it were obvious. "You must activate it."

 _'_ _Great,'_ he thought with an exasperated eye-roll. All his other Plasmids required him to draw some association, some reason to be released. If he could cure her, then that's what he wanted. Then he could be on his merry way. For all the killing that would fall on his head, he wanted to save _someone_ for a change, even if it was only to alleviate his soul. Because deep down, didn't this little girl deserve the chance to be free?

A soft white light slowly edged its way across his veins, pulsing slightly with his own heartbeat. The Sister 'ooh'ed at the light, sending an involuntary flinch up his arms as she poked at it. It was then that he noticed that the as the light spread into his hand, it began crawling up her little arm, glowing brighter by contrast against her dark grey skin.

Her small brows furrowed, moaning uncomfortably as the light continued like an infection through her veins, and Jack watched with fascination as the pigments of her hand began to lighten swiftly, revealing a pale hand that had yet to feel the sun. He watched. He watched until it moved to her eyes, watching as the yellow glow faded from her orbs, and slowly revealed a pair of calf-brown irises.

"Do you see this, _Herr_ Jack? This is your doing," Tenenbaum stated, her tone smiling with her, even as the last of the child's grey flesh faded, and the glow died from both Jack and the Sister. It was mere seconds, but it felt like he was watching it in minutes.

The little girl's eyes widened as she looked around, like she was seeing it for the first time; both in wonder and in fear. "Woah!"

"It is okay child," Tenenbaum stated, slowly picking her up. She then turned to Jack, her eyes exuding gratefulness. "Thank you. The path of the righteous is not always easy, yes? The reward will become clear in time… be patient. I will make it worth your while."

Jack looked up at her, and the distracted little girl in her arms. "I didn't do it for a reward."

Tenenbaum smiled all the same. "But you will not refuse." Damn! She had him there. Before he could stand though, she held something out to him. One of the Little Sister needles, the red liquid filled jar atop brimming. "You need the ADAM, yes? Best to pick these up when you can."

Jack slowly accepted it, looking it over carefully. "What do I do with it?"

"Your guide, Atlas, will help you with that," she responded, gently rocking the little girl. "But be careful, _mein erstgeborener_. I fear the balance of power is shifting."

Jack didn't understand German but didn't put too much thought into it as he stood up, watching as Tenenbaum guided the little sister over to the vent. By the looks of it, they'd be safe in the room for the moment.

"What's that mean?"

Tenenbaum helped the Little Sist – errr? Hmm. Former Little Sister? – into the vent, whispering something to her before the little girl disappeared through. "Will she be okay in there?"

The doctor smiled. Again. He must be doing something right. "She will be fine. I have sent her to a safe place where the other little ones I've rescued are."

Jack curbed his suspicions for the moment. Until she gave him a reason not to trust her, there was no sense in being paranoid. Well… not too paranoid.

"But to answer your former question," she stated more seriously, "there are matters that I must look into now that you have arrived."

 _'_ _What the hell does my being here have to do with anything?'_ he wondered in confusion.

"In the meantime…." She pointed toward the back wall of the room. He turned, watching as a panel opened, revealing one of those cursed chiming Gatherers Gardens. _'With a_ snap _of my fingers,'_ he thought cheerily, blinking before cursing how catchy it was. "…use that. I trust you will take good care of him, _Herr_ Atlas."

The radio crackled, silent at first, before Atlas spoke up. _"I will. My family still needs help."_ Yeah. He still sounded pissed.

Tenenbaum nodded before looking Jack in the eyes. "Good luck, and be careful. We will meet again. Of this, I am sure."

She quickly made her way over to the doors, her posture suddenly guarded as she redrew a pistol, and set back out into the vile lands of Rapture in the province of Medical Pavilion.

Even as she disappeared, Jack looked at the large needle in his hand, and its glowing red jar. If ADAM was such a precious commodity down here, then she had just gifted him with something coveted. He might not completely trust her, but so far, she was off to a good start. Plus, he was sure he could find a use for the needle itself; if he could just tell the difference between those hard-headed Splicers and the regular ones, he might just stab the hard-headed ones through the eyes to kill them. Then again… he still had that scalpel.

Absently, he approached the Gatherers Garden, looking at the machine with no small amount of loathing. The small funnel-like reception near the top he assumed was for ADAM, along with a lever he assumed was for depositing the liquid-red

 _"_ _If you cross paths with any more of them Gatherers Garden machines, make sure you pick up a new Plasmid or two,"_ Atlas directed. _"That is, if the price ain't too_ dear _of course."_ The sheer mockery in his voice had Jack gritting his teeth.

"Either help, or don't, Atlas," he growled, looking at the needle point just inside the machine slot. It was the same as though he injected it himself, just done by a machine. He was looking closer at the machine, noticing a slot just below the needle dispenser. "What's this for?"

 _"_ _Can'' exactly see ya boyo."_

"It's a small slot, just below the dispenser."

 _"_ _Ah Christ! Of course! Bloody Andrew Ryan had those installed on the Gatherer's Garden's,"_ Atlas explained, no longer sharing his dispassion at Jack sparing the Little Sister. _"Wha' ya need is a genetic key. Specifically, one built for you; so tha' one from Steinman won't work. It keeps track of all the little changes that go on in those genetics of yours with some sorta_ … _baseline. Makes them accessible and monitorable to Rapture's big Think-tank. Hold on one second."_

Jack was startled when a couple moments later, he saw one of those rotor bots fly into the room, its green eye looking over him quickly before approaching. Hanging underneath it by a chain, was the same strange card-like key he had picked up from Steinman, only completely blank.

 _"_ _Now don't lose that,"_ Atlas directed. _"Those blanks don' grow in clams, but that thing there is rarer than any ADAM you'll find. If you don't 'ave it, you can't get more Plasmids. It's why most of Rapture doesn't have a bunch of superpowers already. People don't go mad solely from the Plasmids; it's all the raw, unaltered ADAM they keep shooting up with because they lost their genetic keys like the bunch of mad idiots they are. Only a few of the top-tier were smart enough to keep their keys."_

"And you happened to have a blank one?" Jack asked, almost humored. The guy was prepared, he'd give him that.

There was a pause that made Jack pay attention. _"That one was for my family, in-case they needed a little more protecting. My wife… she was none too keen on splicing, but if need be, that was their trump card to get some Plasmids."_ Just when Jack thought they were on the outs, Atlas went and pulled something like that. _"I'll admit, that puts you at more risk with all the ADAM and side-effects, but like I said boyo, you're my best shot. I trust you more with half-a-dozen Plasmids than Moira with a kitchen knife. Gal was always more liable to accidentally take off one of her fingers peelin' potatoes. God, I love that woman."_ Honesty, and humor. Jack may not have liked all what was said, but he couldn't stay mad at him for that. The man just wanted his family safe, and Jack couldn't fault him.

Without another word, Jack plugged the key into the Garden, listening as the machine _whirr_ ed to life. " _Hey there!_ " it exclaimed in that high-pitched little girl voice from the jingle, causing Jack to flinch. Perception and reality were two very different things. " _It looks like you haven't registered yet. Would you like to?!_ "

A small light flickered to the side, showing his options on rotating paradigms like slots. "Yes" and "No". Easy enough. Jack pressed the "Yes" slot, both slots rotating closed as the machine chimed up again. " _First, please put your arm under the needle. We'll need to take a genetic sample, so your key can be custom fitted!_ " This machine was way to peppy, but Jack obeyed… right after the needle got a quick sterilizing taste of Incinerate. " _And remember! Be careful not to move to much! It'll hurt less if you hold still._ " Not encouraging at all, especially in that creepy voice. Was it bad that he preferred an actual Little Sisters?

Before Jack could argue with the machine, the needle shot down, breaking the skin just above his wrist in his forearm. He could feel it edging deep between his radius and ulna bones, hissing as he took a deep breath to steady himself.

 _Ding!_ " _All done!_ " it said as the needle pulled out. " _Wow! You have a Black Pearl membership! Thank you for supporting Ryan Industries!_ " Then the slots along the sides glowed to life, showing him what the machine had to offer him. This time–

"Labels!" he exclaimed. "Sweet merciful God! That's the most beautiful sight I've seen in ages."

A chuckle rose from his radio. _"It hasn't been that long boyo."_

Jack could beg to disagree but chose otherwise. "What did the machine mean by "Black Pearl membership"?" Jack asked into his radio, feeling a little overwhelmed with this whole vending thing. All he wanted was to buy some Plasmids, to save some Little Sisters, to save Atlas' family, to leave Rapture, all ultimately so he could go home. Was that too much to ask?! He didn't want a membership to any exclusive clubs Rapture had to offer. That sounded like a dangerous thing.

 _"_ _It means you struck oil boyo,"_ Atlas stated cheerily. _"Genetics run things here down in Rapture. It means you're in the same genetic pool as someone with a lotta pull in Rapture. Bonuses and discounts. Even the gobbledygook's and Parasite-hangin' extremists never said no to a cheaper Pep Bar. The higher the membership, the better the rewards. Black Pearl is about as elite as you can get ya bloody superstar."_ Now he was just trying to embarrass Jack. _"You have a cousin or aunt that up and disappeared? Biological father that skipped town maybe?"_

"I know my biological father," Jack stated defensively, slightly offended. Pap had taught him everything he knew about hunting, a skill that wasn't lacking down here… not that he could remember anything about their hunts. Huh? Strange. "But I didn't even know I had cousins until… about two days ago? So it's possible."

 _"_ _Still, no point in questioning good-fortune,"_ Atlas stated. _"You get what you think you need, and we'll go from there. I recommend the EVE or Health Upgrades. Those'll keep ya alive long enough until ya get more ADAM for Plasmids."_

Jack complied, looking over his options on the sides. "Um, Atlas… the slots aren't showing EVE or Health Upgrades."

 _"_ _What?"_ That wasn't a normal sound for Atlas: complete surprise.

"Just some things called Enrage Plasmid, Armored Shell Gene Tonic, and EVE Link Gene Tonic," Jack explained, suddenly blinking in confusion. "What's a Gene Tonic?"

 _"_ _That shouldn'uh happened,"_ Atlas stated, ignoring Jack's question. _"Must be a glitch in the machine. Nothin' you can do though. If there was one machine that Ryan made absolutely sure was unhackable, it was those Garden's."_

Oh right! He could try hacking! Jack almost beat his head into a wall for completely spacing that he could do that. Then again, he didn't have the time to try, especially since Atlas just said that it was made to be unhackable, unlike the other machines. _'Probably because it has ADAM,'_ he reasoned. Maybe later though, when he did have some time to kill looking for supplies, he could come back for all the rooms he skipped over, all safes, and for the Garden; see if he could get into them. The fewer resources tapped into now, the more he had later… if some Splicer didn't get into it first, as unlikely as most of those would be.

He looked back over his options, trying to find something that might be productive to get. He wasn't too stoked about the Enrage Plasmid, especially after he had seen the aftermath of that experiment. No thanks. The Armored Shell looked promising, especially if he couldn't get anything else. The sign said twenty ADAM, though he wasn't sure how he was supposed to measure that out. Shrugging, he carefully unscrewed the top off the needle jar, reaching up to pour some of it into the funnel.

 _"_ _You have thirty ADAM deposited Mister!"_ the machine proclaimed, causing Jack to wince, pulling up his wrench in case some Splicer caught him with how _loud_ the machine was being. Not that they'd be able to use his Key, but they would certainly like his ADAM. " _Would you like to apply your discount bonus?_ " He could do that?

"Yes," he muttered, pressing the proper slot.

" _Perfect! Your Black Pearl discount gives you a twenty-five percent bonus off all purchases! That's the price of being Elite!_ " Eh, he wasn't going to complain, but who's idea was it to install membership systems. He guessed the harder you worked, the more you earned, the less you had to spend. Rapture sure had some weird ideals on Capitalism, but then again, that's how you kept customers rolling in and working hard. If they could get that discount later, they could spend what they saved on other things. Not a bad system all things considered, especially if it worked in his favor.

He looked at the Armored Shell Gene Tonic (still not sure what those were) and pressed the slot. Twenty-five percent off twenty was fifteen. Five ADAM saved. It didn't seem like much, but Jack figured it would add up eventually.

" _Alrighty! Stick your arm under the needle, so we can give you your shot!_ " God it was never-ending with the instructions, but he complied. No sense in getting pissy over a damned machine. If it was really that bad, he'd take out his frustrations on a Splicer in a moment or two.

Like the duds he'd used before, his veins blackened around the needle entry. Huh? Maybe only the Gene Tonics did that, whatever those were. To say the least, he didn't feel any different. Did he look any different? He patted his exposed arms, looking down at his torso through his undershirt. No… not really. But, he did see a briefcase at his feet, and another of those recordings.

" _All done! Was there anything else you wanted to get?!_ "

"No." And the slot was pressed. EVE Link sounded fine, but he wasn't having any problems with his EVE. Strange, he hadn't needed to use a Hypo… for a while now that he thought about it.

" _O~kay! Put your ADAM carrier under the needle, and pull the lever above, and we'll deposit your remaining ADAM back to you. Would you like to use our ADAM Bank? Your Key will keep track of all the ADAM you have deposited!_ "

"No," he responded again. While the ADAM would be safer in a Bank; in Rapture, he trusted that machine about as far as he could hack it at this point. Nope, he preferred cold hard ADAM anyway. Kept him honest in his spending.

" _O~kay!_ " And with that he held the Little Sister's needle jar under the machine's needle ( _'God, there's a lot of needles.'_ ) and pulled the lever. His excess ADAM began pouring into the jar. It looked about right, but he might need a bigger jar later on. He capped off the needle jar before retrieving his brand-new genetic key, putting it in his unoccupied back pocket and tying the chain to a belt loop. Now, back to the grindstone.

He bent down, playing the recording he found while he looted that suitcase. Steinman, "Gatherer Vulnerablilty".

 _"_ _Not only are those little girls veritable ADAM factories, they're nearly indestructible. They regenerate any wounded flesh with stem versions of the dead cells. But their relationship with the implanted slugs is symbiotic… if you harvest the slug, the host will die. 'So you see it's not like killing,' Tenenbaum said. 'It's more like removing a terminal patient from life support.'_

If this wasn't just an act for her, clearly something had changed for Tenenbaum; for her to go from that cold scientist to _this_ terrified mother. Jack didn't know. The more he learned about Rapture, the less he was sure about anything. But he didn't think too long on it, especially when his suitcase search yielded him Armor-rounds for his pistol, and tommy rounds.

There were crates nearby too, so he went ahead and checked those. A Med-Kit, buckshot, pistol and tommy bullets. As prepared as he was going to be after that intense reprieve, he headed back out into wastes of Rapture.

He was immediately greeted by another crate as he stepped through the sliding door, looting it for the supplies as quickly as he could. Bright side was, he now had a full magazine of anti-personal tommies. He could already hear the Splicer's, so he equipped his wrench in his right and his pistol in his left, letting Electro Bolt course through the wrench jaws with a crackling spark; he wasn't about to mess with a system that worked.

He stepped out, back into the Medical Pavilion, the stairs down to Dental just in front of him. He turned left, immediately spotting a lady Splicer walking right toward him. She stopped fast, freezing like a deer in head-lights, looking him over quickly before running away. " _It's the monster! Save me. Save me!_ "

"Looks like it worked," he muttered aloud. _'So, that Splicer wasn't caught in the tunnel collapse.'_ Yeah, it was certainly easier to be feared… if not a little disheartening.

He began heading back toward the Emergency Access once again. At least he wouldn't have to fight through a swarm of Splicers to get there.

" _Time to go Mister Bubbles!_ " Oh God! Another one. And this time, he could hear the lumbering footsteps of the Daddy in question. No more freebies by the sounds of it.

His radio whirred to life again. _"Missing Upgrades aside, you're ready now. It's time to take on one of them Big Daddies."_

"The fuck you say?" Jack sputtered. He looked down at his undershirt, ripped pants, soaked shoes, wrench, and pistol. Yeah! He looked totally prepared for that. "What in God's deep blue sea makes you think I can take one of those things on?!"

 _"_ _It won't be easy, but it's the only way to get to them Little Sisters… and the ADAM they carry."_

Double-whammy! To save the girl, he'd have to fight the Big Daddy. To get her ADAM, he'd have to FIGHT THE BIG FUCKIN' DADDY! He groaned, watching as the brute lumbered around the corner, led by his Little Sister.

 _And_ , some jackass had smashed the turrets he'd hacked! There weren't even any expended bodies to loot. Sighing, Jack went over to them, crouching down to look at what was left. That sucked. He couldn't use them to help bring down the Big Daddy. At least their clips had been ejected, leaving behind some ammo. He looted both of those before he did the natural thing and sat down in the waiting room with the Health Station. He quietly began filling his weapon magazines, unsure if he'd need them, but hating to be unprepared all the same. He quickly checked his gear count, trying to keep things at least mildly organized and accounted for. Whenever he caught a Splicer trying to stalk closer to him, he glared, earning him a yelp and the shuffling of their scattering. Like rats.

 _'_ _Twenty-nine pistol, fifteen armor pistol, two-full tommies and a half, one-full personnel tommy and some change, sixteen buck, six electric,'_ he noted, including what was already locked and loaded. There was also a pipe wrench, a scalpel, and a Little Sister needle. Somehow, he didn't think those would do much, being caught in melee range was unappealing after having seen what a Big Daddy could do up close and personal.

He also took a few moments to watch the Big Daddy as it passed by, content with simply following the little girl. It had the standard large drill he had seen with previous Big Daddies, but now that he had time to observe, it also had a large tank on its back, and what he presumed was the engine for the drill. The engine should run on fuel. It was also worth noting that the tank had a large valve at the top, though he doubted that anything he shot at it would damage the tank.

Unless, he had armor-piercing rounds.

He quickly changed out the ammo on his pistol. He'd only have six decisive shots at the maximum for the revolver, and they needed to count. The Big Daddy probably didn't carry that tank without reason, so it was obviously important. The drill engine was the most obvious vulnerability though. It might not stop Jack from getting stabbed, but it might stop his insides from getting blended beyond repair. Up close and personal wasn't really an option, so range was his safest bet. Things should go smoothly, not short of intense, as long as no Splicer's got any ideas.

Shotgun pumped, pistol cocked, tommy primed, Plasmids charged; and Jack did the stupidest thing he'd done since coming to Rapture so far: He picked a fight. With something twice his size and that easily outweighed him five times. He was a flyweight by comparison.

He followed behind the Big Daddy for a little bit, until he could find a place to hide behind. That's when he shot first. Three bullets flew from his pistol into the tank. Even with armor-piercing rounds, the most that happened was it dented. "Oh fu–"

" _RRRAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHH!_ " Well… that plan didn't work. He was immediately met with a multitude of glowing red eyes.

" _Unzip 'im Mister B!_ " Thank you, Little Sister.

The drill whirred angrily as the Big Daddy stomped, sending out a quake that disbalanced Jack. Thankfully, Jack had set this up next to a wall, forcing himself behind it as he tried to reformulate a new plan. He heard something crash behind him, peeking around the corner to see the Big Daddy right there in front of him, its drill smashed into the wall just a few inches from him.

"Oh, hi," he greeted weakly. _My_ that drill looked bigger up close. The Big Daddy roared.

Pistol still in hand, Jack aimed up at one of the eyes, and fired quickly. The first one didn't penetrate the glass while the next one did, the light in that eye going out as the helmet began to depressurize through the hole. The Big Daddy began fumbling around, trying to use his free over-sized glove to stop the leaking. Jack used those few seconds to move, putting his pistol away while pulling out the tommy gun. He opened fire, just as the brute yanked out its drill, pulling stone and plaster with it. It removed its hand, revealing that while the light was still out, the helmet was no longer leaking.

 _'_ _Great, they have countermeasures for that,'_ Jack thought, liking his chances less than when he'd started. Then it charged drill first. Jack reacted, Electro Bolt launching from one hand while he continued to fire away with his tommy.

" _MMMMRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!_ " It charged again, this time too close as Jack was slammed into, its fist sending him flying across the Pavilion and into a wall. He coughed as he hit the ground, tasting copper. Oh, he hoped that armor shell thing worked, cause he felt like shit. He blinked his eyes open to an electrically stunned Mister B.

 _'_ _Oh yeah,'_ he mused, pushing himself into the sitting position. _'Getting hit now makes my active Plasmid backfire.'_ He stopped his musings when the Big Daddy stopped jolting and made another angry groan. _'_ And _it doesn't last long.'_ His head beat against the wall, rolling slightly as he tried to push himself up, only to flop back down. He was so tired.

Its drill spun as it stomped toward him slowly, almost as though it were fully aware of his current state of ouch.

" _You hurt Mister B, and you'll be sorry,_ " the Little Sister called.

Jack started chuckling hysterically, spitting the blood in his mouth off to the side. It couldn't be quick like the last two times. The Daddy just had to draw out his death, and the Little Sister was cheering it on. Not cool. He fumbled with his bag, reaching into its organized contents and pulling out a Med-Kit.

"The worst part is," Jack spoke as he thought. "I _really_ don't want to die, even if I know I'm coming back." He chuckled again, as his laughter broke into huffed sobs. Who was he kidding? He was talking to a mindless field drone designed to protect the little girl he was trying to cure. Ready to face a Big Daddy? Yeah, right. One hit had sent him flying.

He breathed, letting himself calm again as he pulled out the syringe, sticking into his leg. He'd already been shot in the head and turned into modern art by a rocket turret. Being turned into shredded Jack cheese wasn't a pleasant thought.

The drill continued spinning as the giant cocked it back, prepared to run Jack through. So Jack beat him to the punch by squeezing the contents of the syringe into his leg without another word.

The Daddy struck, the drill grinding into the wall as Jack dived to the side, the medical syringe still in the process of healing his wounds as he landed with a grunt. The Big Daddy roared, trying to pull his drill out, only for it to tug back. Without a second thought, it tried stomping on Jack with his giant metal boots, only for Jack to push away in time to watch the floor tile crack underneath the massive impact.

Jack sprung to his feet, whipping around with shotgun-satchel in hand aimed at the drill's engine. He didn't hesitate to fire off two shots before he had to step back at the flailing Daddy. With an angry groan it ripped the drill from the wall, swinging it like a club at Jack, and Jack didn't hesitate to push back.

He lifted his hand, his tendons tensing as Telekinesis pinched a nerve in his head, meeting the Daddy's force full on. Reasoning? If one can lift objects with their minds, it stood to reason they could stop them too. Jack just over-played his hand a little, if the blood running down his nose was any indication from the physical-turned-mental jarring. His face contorted as the drill continued to move, albeit slowly, toward him.

Sniffing uncomfortably, he dropped his secure shotgun, raising his other hand. With two "hands" far stronger and more versatile than his own, he stopped the drill… barely. Jack struggled, to maintain his projection as he felt his shoes physically sliding away.

 _'_ _You idiot!'_ he thought to himself. _'Don't fight the Big Daddy head on! In terms of strength I'm weaker!'_

 _'_ _Than what do I suggest?!'_ he thought back, letting Telekinesis slip as he ducked under the continued swing. _'I'm open to suggestions!'_

 _'_ _You have Plasmids, multiple weapons, a smaller agile body, first-hand experience with death, and a brain! Use it!'_ Wow. He was just _great_ at giving himself pep-talks.

He sent a finger of lightning first, stunning the Daddy before lifting his shotgun with one hand, resting the barrel against the drill engine again before blasting another round of buck into it. It finally started spurting liquid as the giant knocked Jack away with its elbow, taking another backfire of electricity. By the time it recovered, it tried revving its drill again, only for oil to guzzle up from the bit, coughing up all over the Big Daddy's helmet.

"It's nothing personal, but right now, it's you or me," Jack stated as he stood up again, one hand holding his side, pointing a finger at the creature as his middle finger and thumb came together. He knew it didn't choose this. That it was just another monster created by Rapture. If Jack knew a way to save it, he would have used it. But right now, the best he could do was save the Little Sister. "I promise, I'll save her." It was all he could offer.

He snapped, Incinerate lighting up his veins and the Big Daddy. It's diving suit was engulfed immediately, partly from the Plasmid itself, but Jack knew that the oil certainly helped. The pained moan it let loose tugged at Jack, like he was no longer just a killer, but a torturer now too. The Daddy crumpled to its knees, using its drill as a crutch, unable to pick itself up as it weakened from the bullets and Plasmids Jack had hit it with. The oil-fueled fire had done its job.

Jack pulled out his pistol, only one of the armor-piercing rounds still loaded as he aimed at one of the many glowing eyes. "Nighty-night, Mister B," he whispered, keeping his voice resolute. The giant groaned at him, it's glowing eyes flickering between red and green before Jack pulled the trigger. And Mister B slumped forward, helmet _clunk_ ing onto the ground, the metal giant never to rise again.

Jack stumbled back, breathing a shallow sigh of relief, especially since that last hit felt like his ribs might be cracked. Another enemy; another weakness exploited. And he didn't feel any better about it. It had been a close call, and he hoped he didn't have to encounter that every time he fought a Big Daddy. Then again, it was his first, and his techniques would only evolve. Still… it was sad to see something so dedicated to protecting someone down there, fall, even if it didn't choose this life.

" _Wake up Mister Bubbles!_ " Jack turned to see the Little Sister pushing on the burning corpse's arm, her resonate cries and sobs hitting him square in the chest. " _Wake up! Mister Bubbles? Mister Bubbles!_ "

Jack knelt next to her slowly, making sure not to aggravate his side or startle her. There was nothing he could say to let this soon-to-be child know how sorry he was. But… he could try. "It's okay," he stated softly. "Mister Bubbles is sleeping. He gets to be an angel now."

He didn't know where that came from; only that it felt… right.

The Little Sister peeked out from behind her hands, rubbing her yellow eyes as she stared at the man who had taken her guardian from her. There were no tears. Jack didn't even know if they could cry tears, but as she sniffed, she didn't look at him with anything resembling hate or fear. She just looked at him. Then again, he wasn't trying to hurt her, so who knew what was going through her head.

He slowly stood back up, wincing softly. And being as careful as he could, he offered his hand to her. She looked up at him, some faint glimmer crossing her yellow eyes, but something in that delusional mind of hers must have stuck out, because she reached out to him too. The moment her cold fingers curled onto his, he held her hand back as he lifted his radio.

"Tenenbaum, are you there?" he asked.

He waited a moment before he heard, _"What is it_ Herr _Jack?"_

"I've got a Little Sister here. Could you send one of your girls to pick her up? We're in the Lounge next to the… Enwell Life and Health Group counter. It wouldn't be good if she got lost in the vents."

 _"_ _You saved one already?!"_ She sounded surprised. Not that he could blame her. _"Alright. I will let my girls know. There should be a vent on your way to the Foyer."_

Jack nodded, even though he knew that she couldn't see him. He quietly picked up her giant needle before carefully leading the Little Sister back over to the nearby waiting room, taking a few dollars out to pay the Health Station for an injection. His body began to feel better again in moments.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of Splicers – one of them the one that ran away screaming – staring at him quietly. And at the little girl by his side. He supposed that even though word had gone around that he killed Steinman, some were either very brave… or very stupid. Jack opted for the latter. He stepped pointed in front of the girl, glaring his fiercest as Electro Bolt lit up his wrench. They scattered quickly, but Jack kept a careful ear out after that.

He quietly led her over to the vent, which he could see from where he stood.

" _Is it beddy-bye Mister B?_ " she asked up at him, glancing at the vent.

"I'm not Mister B!" he snapped, wincing to himself as she flinched away. He sighed, crouching down to meet her at eyelevel. "I'm not Mister B. I'm Jack."

" _But you look like a Mister B_ ," she stated, her ghoulish nose scrunching slightly at him.

He groaned slightly. _'Does everyone who saves them look like a Mister B? Or a knight?'_ Maybe that's all it was. An association; knights saved people. Mister B saves them. Jack thought for a moment, rubbing his chin before smiling to himself.

He flipped over his hands, exposing his tattoos. "Do Mister B's have these?" She shook her head softly. "That's because I'm Jack. Jack has these."

Her eyes widened in understanding. "So… if Mister B is a Daddy, then Jack is a…." Her hand covered her mouth with a happy gasp as she bounced up and down excitedly. "Then Jack is a Big Brother."

 _'_ _No! She doesn't understand.'_ Jack almost face-palmed right then and there. At least she didn't think he was Mister Bubbles anymore. "Sure, kid. I'll be Big Brother, okay? But call me Jack."

She nodded, all grey skin, yellow eyes, and beaming smiles. "Jack. ~Jack~Jack~Jackjackjack~Big~Brother~Jack~," she began singing in that dissonant tone, skipping around him.

"Hello?" Jack looked up to see a normal little girl peeking out of the vent. "Are–are _you_ Jack? Momma Ten-baum sent me for a little girl. Like me."

The Little Sister at his feet stopped at hearing the new voice, looking up at the other little girl. They weren't afraid of each other at least.

"Yeah, hold on," he said, returning his attention to the Little Sister. "Alright, I'm going to… here." He carefully picked up her hand, placing it on his palm. "There's going to be a glowing light, okay?" He smiled as she nodded, looking at his hand with more interest. Probably for the glowing light.

Jack felt the Plasmid crawl through his hand, his veins turning a soft white once more. And just as before, he watched as that white light in his veins began going through the Little Sister's veins via their connected hands. It was an interesting, if not beautiful sight to behold: Watching the grey fade away from her skin. Soon, a little girl with dark brown hair and blue eyes was looking back at him.

 _'_ _It worked again,'_ he thought, more than happy that it did.

"Hey there," he stated, pointing up at the little girl in the vent. "You're gonna go with her, okay? You need to go to Tenenbaum."

The former Little Sister looked at him. "Momma Ten-baum?"

"Right. Momma Ten-baum," he said. He opened his arms quickly. "C'mon. I'll help you up."

She was easy to pick up, his hand lifting her by the armpits has he helped her to the vent, the other little girl backing down to make room for the new addition. Once she had her arms secure in the vent, he used his hands to give her something to push her bare feet off of. Within moments, she was sliding down the vent.

He smiled to himself slightly, before he turned to walk away.

"Big Brother!" He turned back, looking at the little girl now staring back at him from the hole in the wall. She lifted her arm out, holding out a large pocket wallet. "This was Mister B's for nummies. Since Mister B is an angel now, Big Brother can have it if his tummy gets the rumblies."

He took it carefully, looking over the old accessory before looking at her. "Thank you."

She smiled, then disappeared back into the vent.

He watched for a moment more, before moving through the door just to the right of the vent, a small smile lingering on his face.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** **Would You Kindly Read & Review! :)**

Hey guys!

I'll admit, I wasn't exactly sure how this chapter was going to go. With realism in mind, it makes sense that Jack would use his superiority to his advantage (even if he doesn't like the result). Fear is a powerful tool to the person who knows how to use it, and having Jack take advantage of the Splicer's terror was a good start to his rise in Rapture.

I also wanted the encounter with the first Little Sister and Tenenbaum to be more... personal. In the game, Tenenbaum is this stand-offish character that the player has no real connection with, so having her up close and in Jack's face with a pistol felt more immersive as far as content. I wanted the same thing with Atlas. While we don't necessarily even see Atlas, he's an integral part of the story, and making him _real_ is how I want things to be. Having Jack decide between "Rescuing" or "Harvesting" the Little Sisters was a difficult decision. While I personally am always in favor of the "Rescuing", I did want some struggle in Jack's mind. The weight of that decision ultimately came down to a compromise, and I hope I executed it well.

As far as the Gatherer's Garden, I like to think it made sense. Not everyone in Rapture has Plasmid capability (almost every Splicer later has some sense of Incinerate or fire capability, which made sense since Incinerate was the most advertised Plasmid from what I can tell), even if they have a couple Gene Tonics here and there. But why? As often as people seemed to Splice _before_ the Rapture War, it didn't make sense why so few in-game had Plasmids. Hence the Genetic Keys. As far as the memberships go, realistically, its how people promoted their goods and business: by creating exclusive or tiered membership (kind of like Costco); I think I explained it in-story.

The fight with the Big Daddy wasn't the moment to kill Jack again. You'd think that with how tough they are that Jack would have to come back at least once, and normally, I'd agree. But a couple things stood out to me as I played, reloaded, and continued observing. The drill engine and the tank on the Big Daddy's back for one. The tank I'd think _would_ be reinforced, especially since the helmet seems to be atmospherically contained (which explained the countermeasure to fill in the hole Jack put in one of the helmet's "eyes", otherwise the portholes would be huge vulnerabilities) and therefore could pose a threat if so easily damaged like a common gas tank. The drill engine was another vulnerability, as demonstrated (but it still took three heads on shotgun blasts to even damage it). For two, Splicers have very simplistic fight styles (charging in for melee, run-and-shoot for ranged, etcetera), that are generally covered by the Big Daddy's counter-moves and quake-stomp, making them relatively easy for a Big Daddy to dispatch (but even a small force of Splicers has been known to take down Big Daddy's, albeit, with casualties). So hard, but not super hard. Jack _is_ learning after all, even though its only been a short time in Rapture.

Take care, and don't forget to Review! Let me know your Questions, Comments, and Concerns (QCC) :)

Until next time. Possibly to be called _Chapter 6: Into the_ _Briny_ or _A Shark Among Fish_. (I know I'm a little ahead on the chapter names, but that just goes to show how dedicated I am to finishing this story)


	7. Chapter 6: Into the Briny

**A/N:** Hey guys! Guess who's baaaaa-aaack!

I know. I know. I haven't updated in like... what? Five... maybe six months? To be fair, sitting down and playing Bioshock, pausing Bioshock, trying to write a paragraph or two, play Bioshock for two more seconds, pause Bioshock, write another paragraph, reload a previous save to make sure I got the details down right... it gets boring and frustrating doing that for any amount of time. Plus adding all the characterization in between all of that is tough. Getting the _oomph!_ to do it for a second time took a lot of kicking my own ass to get'r started again. Trying to write this, along with the two other stories I have going (more like one-and-a-half... but when you're a writer, the headache rounds itself up with no regard to your sanity), was an undertaking, but I finally- _finally_ - _FINALLY!_ got it done.

 _ **Review Responses:**_

\- razmire: I believe there was cut content for Bioshock 2 for the Little Brothers, and I think their were concepts for the Big Momma, but it was never exactly explained why. I think it was in the _Bioshock: Rapture_ Novel that it was attempted by Tenenbaum and Suchong, but the experiment didn't "end well". Not sure how canon that is though. Unfortunately, I'd have to hear it from Ken Levine's mouth before I actually took anything to heart.

\- MartyrFan: I think I mentioned last chapter, but... I'm all for Jack "Rescuing" the Little Sisters, but like you said, there had to be conflict, both in self-interest and in self-ideals. As long as Jack had a strained conscience about what he was doing, he was never going to be able to move forward proficiently.

While I do like your idea for Splicers, I do find it unlikely. There are a few loopholes. For one, ADAM itself replaces cells with unstable stem variants, and while unstable, they need more ADAM to stay stable (but they were still viable regardless, which results in insane Splicers still having powers), but that adds more unstable stem cells; creating this vicious escalating cycle that eventually drives a person to deformity and insanity. The ADAM cells replace the healthy ones, which leads me to believe that, like any cell, they can duplicate through mitosis, therefore passing along their genetic information, unstable or not.  
Then again, its unclear how Rapture citizens were paid in ADAM in the first place, so for all we know, the 80 ADAM Jack gets for Rescuing a Sister is considered a whole heck of a lot (and the 1000 that Ryan put up as a reward for killing you as a frickin' gold mine!), which would explain why Plasmids costing 100+ ADAM are basically never seen in Splicers. They could only afford the occasional Gene Tonic unless they were able to amass an unhealthy collection of the goop. Plus, once the craving side-effects started, they wouldn't be able to collect a whole lot of ADAM if they had to keep shooting up in gradually larger amounts to keep their ever-growing number of stem cells healthy. (I'm pretty sure I stayed true to canon in that way, but maybe I missed something?)

I'm not sure as far as the war. It would make sense, given Elizabeth's ability to one-hit sneak attack most Splicer's in _Burial at Sea Pt. 2_ , while Jack has to give 'em a couple good whacks without the proper Tonics (he's physically stronger in the first place from "farm work", so lets let that sink in as far as Splicer durability shall we?). And that was after the course of a year between the events of _Burial at Sea_ and _Bioshock_ numero uno. I think its a good theory, or at least, one worth noting, especially since the Splicers in _Bioshock 2_ are fewer, but stronger, more aggressive and more mutated after _years_ of splicing. It does have merit.

Not that I noticed. I just figured "Hey, there's an drill engine. It runs on fuel and oil. What happens when you fill it full of buckshot?" Plus, I figured that they've had some trial and error in the Proving Grounds before they worked out most of the kinks of the Big Daddy's suit when converting them from laborers to protectors. But like always, it's not a perfect system, especially when you have some creative solutions.

I came to that conclusion as well. I believe when the Little Sister drinks from her needle, the slug processes the ADAM from the blood she's consumed from recycled Splicers. It would explain why when they're rescued, that you get less ADAM (because the slug is destroyed, so is some of the ADAM it was processing). I admit, I willingly decided for a softer approach when collecting ADAM from the Rescued Sisters, especially since the ADAM counter in game is glowing red, and the Little Sister needle jar is glowing red, I kind of wanted to go with a like-association.

Again, this is speculation because so much is left for us as the players to fill in the gaps, but its just my opinion as always. And no worries about throwing a few headcanons my way. It's always a pleasure to bounce ideas back and forth! :)

\- "PhillipBoss" and "Iron900": They'll probably be super slow, but I guarantee that I'm not going to stop until it's finished. I invested _way_ to much brain-space and -processing to give up on it now.

\- Blaze Stryker: I have a distinct feeling that you're not wrong. It was one of those "Oh? Oh. Oh!" moments that made the dramatic irony of _Bioshock_ a little more bitter-sweet.

The pin pricks aren't checking for Ryan's DNA specifically (since that would mean Andrew Ryan would have to play dodge-bullet with the turrets before pricking himself if he ever encountered one), they're more like a genetic override that establishes Jack as "Friendly". Not to say that being half- Ryan doesn't help in that regard, but its establishing that half- Jolene part as friendly that's important since nothing in Rapture will harm Andrew Ryan (except a certain sweater wearing stud).

Nah! Since when is Jack going to leave around a potentially useful item? That would mean a Splicer could pick it up and suddenly, there goes the neighborhood. It's not necessarily the Plasmid's that are recycled; it's the ADAM, since it can be manipulated into other Plasmids, but the base substance can still hold the memory of people its passed through (no known way of getting around that)

Probably, but that would require a genetic baseline and identifying markers between Jack and Ryan. A Key wouldn't record _that_ specifically (hint: something else would though). However, the Vita-Chamber's _were_ probably the first thing that made Ryan raise one of his overly groomed eyebrows. But I have a theory as to how he conducted and gathered his research from there. Will be "keying" (haha!) you and everyone else in on my ideas later. Much, much later. ;) ('nother hint: I made mention of said method previously)

 ***End of Responses**

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Into the Briny (Don't Forget Your Waders)**

Jack had to actively suppress the smile on his face as he headed back toward the Emergency Access. However, the little tug to his lips was harder to pull back into place than he anticipated. It wasn't until he stepped back into the hall that his radio fizzled back to life.

" _Are you almost back to Emergency Access?_ "

"Yep, ready to go," Jack stated, "unless you have something else here I need to take care of here."

" _Nope, but it seems like ya left an impression on the riff-raff. Might be a good place to take another gander once all this blows over_."

Yep, Jack could see that. He'd have to see about breaking into all those safes if time allowed.

" _Take the sub as soon as you open up the Emergency Access. You've got Ryan's eye now, so you won't hear him coming_."

"Even though he announces his presence over the PA system every opportunity that suites him?" Jack snorted as he walked toward the aesthetic waterfall up ahead.

He could practically hear Atlas's smirk over the other end. " _Aye, but he'll be there before you know it. He don'' like loose ends_."

Jack finally made it back toward the Foyer, eye-spying a Grenade Splicer standing in the "Electrical Override Switch" booth, overlooking the reception area through the broken glass. It noticed him just as quickly, tossing his little can grenade before Jack stopped it with Telekinesis, and half-heartedly tossed it back. The explosion was simple at that distance. Fewer things to worry about when it wasn't up in his face. He could hear the gurgle of the Splicer's punctured chest as he wheezed for air, even as he made his way down the steps. Serves it right. He'd sent a Splicer to warn others against fighting him. If they didn't want to back down, so be it.

He ignored the Circus of Value as he walked back to the Access, despising the familiar industrial look and red light. Although, the thirteen rounds of Tommy ammo was a nice touch to find on the floor, especially after he'd already looted the place. It was both amazing and sickening how quickly the Splicers could move back in. Before he used Steinman's key though, he went up to the observation booth, finishing off the good-as-dead Splicer with a solid _whack!_ before looting a solid seventeen bucks from it.

It wasn't a minute later that he stood in front of the Emergency Access Controls, finding the slot for Steinman's Genetic Key, and inserting it. In an instant, the red lighting faded to neon white, and the "Access Denied" on the screens turning to the "Stand By" pictured with the lighthouse.

"Security Alert deactivated," the system announced. "Thank you for your patience!"

" _Good. Now you need to insert your own key. Tha' should give you full access to the Medical Pavilion if you need it. Only a few sods can overwrite that, and they'd hafta do it manually. It should make it impossible for most blokes to follow ya._ "

Jack shrugged. Why not? Atlas knew what he was doing better than he did. Without further prompt, he pulled his Genetic Key out of his back pocket and inserted it, a small chime sounding as the machine scanned it.

"Now that that's over," Jack huffed as he repocketed his key, walking tiredly down to the opened gate that lead to the Bathysphere.

" _Great job lad. I don't know how you managed it, but you did_ ," Atlas commented over the radio.

"Wow, where was all that faith just a few minutes ago," Jack mumbled sarcastically, keeping it low and to himself.

" _Come through to Port Neptune now. I'm looking forward to shakin' your hand_."

Jack wished he could say the same thing with a beaming hundred percent certainty. But after that… conversation about the Little Sisters, a part of him was being stubbornly sore. The man just wanted his family safe, even if it meant trodding on everyone else in the process. Jack didn't agree with it, but he empathized.

Making his way down to the dock, he hissed at the cold water, growling in discomfort as he walked over to the Bathysphere. A storage crate to his left yielded sixteen dollars.

"Oh fucking c'mon!" he moaned. The submersible had about an inch or two of freezing water on the floor. Growling in irritation, he moved over to the elevator-like buttons that brightened. "Neptune's Bounty" was the only light shining, so he pushed the damned thing and plopped down on the musty seating, pulling the lever mindlessly.

He took a deep, calming breath as the hatch closed over, knowing what to expect, but hating it none the less. The first time had been an accident, but now that he was doing it willingly, he was doing everything in his power to breathe normally.

" _You gonna be alright boyo?_ " Atlas prompted, distracting Jack from his delving thoughts as the Bathysphere sank into the water. He shivered at how cold it suddenly became. Probably because he wasn't wearing his sweater this time.

"I will be," he answered, fumbling to pull out his smokes. Incinerate blazed to life, licking up his hand to turn any residual blood to ash, allowing him to shake his hand clean before he popped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it with a small blue spark of Electro Bolt. In his opinion, it was cooler that way.

He leaned back and closed his eyes as he inhaled, extracting the small light to exhaled a stream of smoke. _'There. Much better,'_ he mused, letting himself calm from the ritual. He didn't bother looking out into the city. What had previously been a thing of wonder, now filled him with disgust. He didn't want to see any more of it than he had to.

With that thought in mind, he pulled out his coffee thermos from his satchel, glad to see that it still had some faint wisps of steam left, even if it was less warm than the last time he'd sat down for a drink. So there Jack sat, a smoke in one hand, a cuppa joe in the other. He kept his eyes closed, letting his sense of self-awareness guide the drink and smoke to his mouth as needed.

He just wanted to sleep. But he couldn't now. The very idea of Rapture kept him wide awake with fret and worry. What would that look like once he made it to the surface? Would he dream of what this place could have been? Or would he wake up gasping for air, realizing that he wasn't about to drown again?

It was several minutes of restless rest, lack of thought, and the occasional sip and puff before he felt the Bathysphere beginning to surface again. With an irritated sigh, he wished he'd had more than a ten minute "lunch break" to prep himself. He swallowed the last of his coffee in one drought, screwing the cap back on before putting his cigs back in his pocket, his current smoke having just a little more life to it.

He contemplated his next move as the Sphere docked, making sure his acquired weapons were good, that his satchel was still in good condition, and the improvised suitcase he'd strapped down was also in good condition. With his luck, he'd be needing a way to stow his gear here soon. That or get something to carry it all with.

With a deep breath of resignation, he took his first step into Neptune's Bounty.

" _Now you've had the pleasure of Andrew Ryan's company,_ " Atlas stated sarcastically.

"I take it he runs the place?" Jack wondered. He didn't know what Ryan's exact involvement was, only that he was someone with enough pull to literally make his life down here a living hell.

" _He's the vision behind this place, had the plans to build it. And now he's the one who run it into the seabed._ " Well… that explained a lot. It was Andrew Ryan's brain-child, and he was as possessive of it as a toddler with a toy. Fascinating. " _Nobody knows exactly what happened. Maybe he went mad. Maybe the power got to him. Maybe he just decided he didn't like people._ " Jack scoffed at that. He could relate. People sucked. Especially down here, where nearly everyone and their second cousin was a socialite now hyped on a genetic re-writing wonder drug trying to kill you for no damn good reason. " _Whichever way you slice it, good men died. Me family's in a submarine, hidden in the foundation of the ol' Fontaine Fisheries. I'll be meetin' you there._ "

That was the best news Jack had heard all… day? Still didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't really care either as he walked up the stairs from the Bathysphere. Dead ahead, some poor fucker was crucified and stabbed with scissors, his arms and neck held suspended by ropes, and the word "Smuggler" written over his head on the support column behind him. The left path was blocked by crates owned by "Lotz & Sons", the right clear enough. Jack picked up the buckshot and emptied a Tommy of its ammo in front of the crates before he got a good look at what was at the "smuggler's" hanging feet.

Two suitcases. One with bibles and a crucifix, the other filled to the brim with tape reels.

Jack snickered. For a city where no one was to be restricted, it certainly made sure to censor just about everything. What a fucking hypocritical society. Funny how Rapture was broken at its very core, and it showed.

Shaking it off, Jack did the half-decent thing, and lit Incinerate across his fingers, burning through the ropes until he could lower the poor bastard down. That didn't mean Jack spared his pockets a riffling, but he figured even the dead deserved _some_ dignity, even if he only got a package of bandages out of it.

"He's late."

Jack froze out of reflex, pulling out his wrench quickly. The only thing that kept him from moving now was how strange and out of place the voice seemed. Completely refined, sophisticated, and… "normal". Clearly a woman's voice.

"On the contrary, I believe he'll arrive precisely when he intends to."

"It's not like we didn't hear him sifting through that plebeian's pockets. How crude. Could he be any louder?"

"I believe he could. In some events, there may have been a lot of squelching involved."

"And he let it down, as if a corpse cares for dignity. Some askew concept of petty morality."

"That would explain his tardiness. He did make some interesting choices."

"Unique choices. In a circumstance of black and white, he chose a sort of grey. Never had that happen before."

"Well it is a unique circumstance, sister. He chose a compromise. Very few thought of that."

"And even fewer followed through. It was strange that such a simple event had such a large ripple. It wasn't even a completely new choice. More like a half-choice."

"Half-indeed. Especially on matters of blood. Perhaps its implications have much larger ramifications down the line, hence the ripple across time-space. Some things have already uniquely taken place. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to say so."

"Perhaps so. … … Oh for heavens sake, we know you're there!"

Jack slowly moved past a cord of rope and – surprise, surprise (not really) – a Vita-Chamber. Up ahead, was a Circus of Value to the right, and in the middle a new machine with the golden neon "Gene Bank" written at it's top. Not the most important things though.

The real surprise came with the people he saw.

A well-groomed red-headed man in a tan overcoat, bronze waist coat, and green tie was crouched in front of the Circus of Value, looking in the dispenser slot like he was expecting something to fall out. Two jars sat next to him, one filled with what appeared to be silver coins, while the other remained unceremoniously empty. Next to him, leaning at ease against the Gene Bank, was an equally well-groomed, and equally red-headed woman, dressed similarly to the man, but with a brown skirt that curtained to the ground. She watched the man fiddle away. They looked like two sides of the same–

"Ah! Coin," the man said randomly, lifting up another silver coin he appeared to find, but also as though answering an unfinished thought. "He has questions."

"Does he always though?" the woman inquired. "He _is_ the only one of his kind. He's setting the standard here."

"The question is…."

"Can we answer his questions?"

"No! Would answering his questions only lead to more questions?"

"Questionable, but probable."

"Questionably probable?"

"Probably."

 _'Holy fucking shit…! W-What?'_ Jack thought, looking frantically back and forth between them as they bantered on. His wrench counted back and forth between them, trying to keep track of the conversation.

"Fantastic. I think we confused him," the woman exasperated.

"To simplify things…," the man stated to Jack, only half paying attention.

"Greatly simplify things," the woman expounded.

"We're just here to observe," the man clarified without actually clarifying, like he was talking straight through him. And Jack still didn't know who they were.

Jack was confused, his mouth half opened as he looked between the two of them. They weren't Splicers. That much was plain to see. But they didn't exactly seem… normal either.

"I think I found the _actual_ Tweedle Twins," he commented off-handedly, feeling somewhat dizzy by the sheer bizarreness both of them radiated in spades _and_ hearts. _'_ And _further down the rabbit hole.'_

They just looked at him with a hint of amusement, as if he were a fascinating specimen they were observing. For some reason, Jack found their passive intrigue discomforting, like a small insect was crawling down the back of his neck. Strange.

"So, who are you two?" he asked, unable to relax as his hand gripped his wrench a little tighter.

The man sighed, reaching nonchalantly over to the already filled jar, and to Jack's astonishment, it blurred, vibrating slightly before it stood suddenly empty. The man dropped the silver coin he'd found into it with a _Chink!_. "I suppose it's safe to say-"

"He doesn't remember us yet," the woman said with a hint of what might have been success in her voice, like she had won a bet. "Suffice to say, he's much too emotional."

"That is constant. It happens in every divergent."

"But the outcome-"

"-Is subject to change," the man finished. "Though he is learning."

"The learning curve is rather unkind though," the woman stated. "Much too scrupulous, and yet _just_ devious enough. Choosing to save a life while subjecting others to terror. Contradictory."

"Paradoxical even?" the man offered.

"Precisely. Not wholly unique."

"And yet in this time and place alone, uniquely whole. So many choices."

"And yet the only branch of its kind. But will it bear fruit?"

"Preferably bananas."

"No. Grapes. Of course, bananas! Excellent source of potassium."

"Indisputable. But this time-line is still subject to change."

"Small at first. A rock in the sea."

"Ah, but once a ripple has started-"

"-Then the waves begin to grow. No telling what will happen now that that particular cat is out of the bag."

"But all the cats are dead cats down here."

"Fair point. Nothing Schrödinger about it. Funny thing, since we beat him to the punch in terms of theoretical quantum entanglement."

"Indeed. It's too bad he couldn't have been born twenty years earlier. I bet he was a splendid conversationalist."

"No time-line for that. I checked."

"Pity."

Jack just blinked again before shaking his head. "I'll just be going now," he stated, moving around to the open side of the Gene Bank, where it looked like the corpse of some kind of Big Daddy laid, just behind the woman. He sighed. Couldn't search it without potentially looking like a pervert in such close proximity to her... well, her behind.

"Now just a moment," the woman stated, tapping the Gene Bank in demonstration. "You'll be needing this."

"And this," the man stated, as though his fiddling were indication to the vending machine he was tinkering with.

"Brother dear, I'm sure he'll be more interested in knowing what is occurring around his genetic baseline than check for supplies."

"Was that before or after he nearly blew through his entire stock of medicinal injections?" the man countered.

"Hmm. I do suppose you're right. It wasn't his smartest move."

"Won't be his last," the man agreed.

"Won't be the worst," the woman agreed back.

"Or will it? Still a rather obscure timeline. He could do something far more stupid."

"Also fair."

Jack just looked at them, trying to ignore the massive headache rising from trying to follow them. "How can I trust you won't try something while I use the machines?"

"I suppose you can't trust us," the man stated.

"But you will."

"Or will have had to."

"But most likely later."

"Much later. Or is it sooner? What's past tense of later?" the man asked his sister.

"I don't believe that's been invented yet," she answered. "Not for this particular definition anyway."

"What good are grammar professors if they can't plan for these sorts of conundrums?"

"About as useful as physicists I suppose."

"Sister, _we're_ physicists."

"So only as useful as the pursuit of their craft," she clarified.

"Ah! In that case, we've only scratched the surface," he stated.

"Even if we've achieved omniscience by being atomized across all of time-space?" she replied, as though she'd asked about the weather. Must be some private joke, because Jack didn't understand a word of that.

"That's the spirit!" the man declared, standing up and dusting himself off.

Both of the "twins" moved from their positions, standing side-by-side as they walked at a leisurely pace past Jack, as though they were doing nothing but taking a Sunday stroll in the park.

"Perhaps we should have left him with a gift," the man stated as they rounded the pillar toward the Bathysphere.

"Perhaps. But he's been gifted enough. Our dear little upstart saw to that."

"Not for now. For later," the man corrected. "DeWitt received one."

"Or in this case, will have received one."

"Or both," the man stated.

"Yes. Both," she agreed. "Time is fickle that way."

"So is that a yes to the gift? I have a couple selections picked out."

"Planning like it's Christmas are we?" the woman sounded amused. "Hmm, we'll see."

Jack stood there for a moment longer, half waiting to hear the telltale sound of a Bathysphere descending. But none came. In fact, he didn't hear another peep at all. Curiosity eventually got the better of him, and he looked around the pillar, half betting he'd see them just standing there silently.

There was no one. And no indication that anything had been tampered with, much less the Bathysphere.

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. "Alice must be nuttier than she thought," he muttered, turning back to the machines with little other prompt as he pulled up his radio. "Hey Atlas."

It took a moment, but he was rewarded with the radio's whir. " _What is it boyo?_ "

"Are there any other survivors down here?" he asked, holding the radio between his cheek and shoulder as he went about hacking the Circus of Value. "Ones that haven't spliced themselves to hell."

" _A couple here and there. Most are holed up, scattered around Rapture. A few even locked up in Persephone. Most of the active ones like… Johnny… worked with me against Ryan. Ya weren't seein' ghosts were you?_ " Jack cringed in sympathy, having only caught the bowel-end of Johnny's demise when he first arrived. Literally.

"These ones were… pretty tangible looking," he replied. "Talked funny, like they had a banter act. Disappeared into thin air as soon as they rounded a corner."

There was a pause on the other end. " _That's concerning, no matter how you look at it. Either your goin' bat-shit boyo, or there's blokes still down here that haven'' lost their minds to the Plasmids. As unlikely as either is, keep a sharper lookout now Jack. I don't like this one bit_."

"Yay," Jack cheered unenthusiastically, as he finished hacking the machine. He still wasn't sure what that little guilty tingle up his arm was.

Next was the Gene Bank. The strange woman said he'd probably need it. Again, there was a large needle. And it looked like he'd be using it. "Fuck!" He ran his fingers over the machine, trying to see how the bloody thing worked. The machine whirred as he grazed an upward pointing arrow with two lines through it on the right-hand side of the machine. On the left-hand side, box with two canisters atop it slide down and opened out like a mailbox, revealing a rotating screen similar to the Gatherer's Garden. There was even a convenient little slot for his Genetic Key.

Jack groaned. Not that it was overly complicated, but because he _really_ didn't want to deal with another weird Rapture machine. "Buck up, and just get it over with."

Retrieving his Genetic Key once again, Jack inserted it, watching as the already bright gold machine hummed as it processed. Several shutters blinked open next to a couple prompts. ""Plasmids" and "Gene Tonics"," he wondered aloud, especially since he still didn't know what a Gene Tonic was. There was also an "Update" tab, but he figured that was self-explanatory.

Erring on the side of understanding, he clicked the "Plasmid" tab, watching as the shutters and slides rearranged to show him his current Plasmids: "Telekinesis", "Electro Bolt", and "Incinerate". Interesting enough, there were another five slots, with little locks on them. He hummed in curiosity, but didn't think too much on it as he clicked "Telekinesis". Another shutter as Telekinesis was removed from the slot, leaving it empty, but putting the Plasmid option off to the side.

"So that's how you work," he stated aloud, looking around quickly to make sure he was alone. "Then what's with these other slots? Do they unlock as I get Plasmids? Or is there something else?"

Pushing it aside for now, he reinstated "Telekinesis" and exited back to the primary screen, choosing "Gene Tonics" this time. There were eight unlocked slots among a total of eighteen. Five slots were taken up by "Gene Tonics". What concerned him was the slot with three Question Marks for a picture on it. So far it looked like he had "Hackers Delight", "Wrench Jockey", "Cats Paw", and "Armored Shell".

"Now do you come with descriptions?" Jack muttered to himself, "Because I need to be educated like a three-year-old, since I don't know what a Gene Tonic is or what it does." He looked them over, and low-and-behold, they do have descriptions… with a lot of fancy propaganda bullshit.

In a nutshell! "Hackers Delight" caused the giddy little feeling he got every time he hacked something, redirected currents from successfully hacked machines causing his body to heal and generate EVE. Cool. Not sure how that worked, but cool. "Wrench Jockey" made him bulkier so he could smash shit harder. He didn't look or feel it, but he'd take its word for it. "Cats Paw" basically made him quieter while walking, and increased his speed and agility. He hadn't noticed that either, but then again, maybe that was the point. Did that mean he always landed on his feet too? … Food for thought. "Armored Shell"… didn't have a more apt description, but if Jack had to guess, it had something to do with a genetically grown subdermal armor.

 _'How the hell do I know what subdermal armor is?'_ he wondered, before shaking it away. Just another thing he didn't know he knew. Still, if Gene Tonics really did all that, then damn! Even thinking about all the Splicers that had this shit in their systems made Jack shiver at the unfairness of what he was caught up in. At least now he was figuring it out, and slowly but surely evening the odds.

The three Question Marks had him most curious, so he clicked on it, blinking in surprise as it expanded. This Gene Tonic had its own sub-sections. Two in fact. Both marked with " **?** ". Curiouser and curiouser. Looking for descriptions, he was sorely disappointed when his question marked Question Marks had more question marks. "Great," he sighed sarcastically. "I have an actual dud that I don't know what it does. Only that it has two sub-duds that go with it. Once again, Rapture fails to impress with its lack of labelling."

Great. Lovely. Fucking fantastic!

Jack closed out of the machine and retrieved his Key, since all he wanted to do was check it out. At least he was better informed about the rewiring his genetics was experiencing, even if he was only more confused about it now. He quickly looted the differing Big Daddy, gaining another few dollars. Jack quietly hopped the Rapture Transit schedule billboard that made a ramp in front of him, watching the shadows of fish overhead crawl across the ground.

He startled however when he noticed a red glow on the ground. Underneath the concrete debris was a Little Sister needle, the glow coming from the jar. ( **A/N:** this is in the game if you look closely, it kind of surprised me when I found it)

Jack's heart crawled into his throat as he crouched down, hoping and praying that he didn't see one of the girls crushed to death under the collapse. To his immediately relief, and subsequent dread, he didn't see any sign of her. He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't help the weight in his chest as he pulled out the large ass needle, dumping the red goop into his ADAM jar before putting it back down. He still hadn't used the other one he had, so there was little use for carrying another one.

The pressure door craned open, allowing him to see the incredibly damaged tunnel, water pouring onto the floor ahead… and the large shadow of a rummaging Splicer down the hall.

Jack decided to test out the extent of that Cats Paw Tonic as he edged his way forward, relying partially on the mutated gene, and partially on what pap had taught him while hunting.

He couldn't remember what actually occurred at the time, but the words were ingrained inside his head. "Fox Walk, Jackie," he whispered under his breath. "Knees slightly bent to lower the center of gravity, step with the ball of your foot first, roll the toes downward, then put pressure on the heel." Like out of a textbook. He walked forward. Slowly. Padding his way down the hall. He didn't draw his weapons. He didn't keep any Plasmid handy except Telekinesis. Either action would probably give away his position by sound alone. All he did was focus on his steps, and his breathing.

When he approached the water, Jack had to steel himself, both mentally and physically, before slowly – painstakingly slowly – lower his foot into the water. It hurt. Already his toes and bones ached from the shear cold, made worse by the effort of maintaining his focus on his quiet movements, even as he slowly slithered through the ice-cold water. Thankfully the water falling from a piping leak overhead was making plenty of noise to drown out any sounds Jack may have unwillfully made.

He slowly, and patiently crawled out of the water, doing his best to keep his teeth from chattering. Once on shore, he eased forward, ignoring the biting cold in his legs as he licked his sea chapped lips.

 _Snn! Snn-snn!_ The Splicer's shadow stood up, lifting its nose to the air like a hound as it sniffed. "What crawls in my garden?" he heard from the Splicer, shivering slightly at the familiarity he heard in that voice. Jack watched, barely a few feet away as the shadow on the wall seemed to turn and look right at him, sending a horrible chill up his spine… though that may have been his cold toes talking. "Is it the little sproutling, emerged from its seed?"

"Oh fuck," he muttered, not bothering with the noise as he pulled his comfort shotgun close. _"Is it someone new?"_ he remembered. "Not _you_."

Cackling, the Splicer's shadow jumped, disappearing. Jack blinked as the chill factor wore off with a burst of adrenaline, instantly activating Incinerate in his veins before directing it to his feet. Amazingly, his toes felt a hundred and ten percent better in a few seconds as they warmed up instantly. Egh! But now his socks were now wet _and_ warm. Maybe he could steam-press them on his feet?

He rounded the corner, spotting the unfortunate victim the familiar Splicer had been slicing into with… meat hooks. Lovely. He looked upward, spotting the hole in the ceiling she had disappeared into, as well as something hanging off the edge. He reached up with Telekinesis, drawing it down.

More Electric Buck.

Other than that, the corpse yielded nothing, but emptying the bullets from a nearby Tommy yielded over half a magazine. The whole time, Jack kept his shotgun in hand, frequently sending nervous glances up at the hole in the ceiling, as though the first Splicer he'd ever seen would suddenly drop down and gut him.

He carefully walked into the next room, divided by two sets of pressure doors to see a vent to his right, and a Health Station to his left. Almost immediately… were those rose petals falling?

"But the days go by like the wind."

The shotgun was immediately to his shoulder as he looked up, both eyes trained on the grated ceiling. His breath was quickening. This was ridiculous! He had fought his way through the Medical Pavilion, killed a Big Daddy _and_ Steinman; but this one Splicer was making his heart beat out of his chest.

"C'mon," Jack gritted to himself, ignoring the sweat irritating his temple. "C'mon Jack. Move. Move!" He pulled the shotgun back, breathing heavily as he forced an ounce of calm into his system. He felt like he was walking on bloody eggshells now. He moved over to the Station, hacking it quickly, but even the guilty tingle he caught from his Hacker's Delight Tonic (Ha! He knew what it was called now!) failed to completely spur him.

He needed to move. Staying still was deadly when out in the open, even if "open" consisted of a short hallway.

He pushed onward, the automatic door opening to greet him with a giant red crab sign dubbed "McCracken Crabs". And the sight of one of those variant Big Daddies escorting a Little Sister.

Jack breathed. She was protected, and acting now could end up more detrimental than not. Sure, there was a vent behind him, but he didn't even know where anything was around here. Best to wait for now.

To his right was "Fontaine Fisheries". That was where he's supposed to go.

"Ha! There! Give 'er to me!" a Splicer called. Jack looked further up and over, spying a Grenade Splicer next to a neon sign for "Upper Wharf". It immediately began lobbing his tin can bombs down on the Daddy and his ward. The explosion drew out a bellow from the dive-suited thing, but not before the Daddy lifted the Sister with one hand, and pulled her behind it; using itself as a shield. "Show me your broken face you metal piece of shit!"

" _Get 'em Mister B!_ "

 _'Ambush,'_ Jack thought. "No shit," he growled, Incinerate encompassing his forearm and hand. His eyes narrowed as he focused, on the one-hit KO he was looking for.

 _SNAP!_ A burst of flame caught the explosives box, the Splicer dropping it in shock. The explosion took place quickly and the bloody mist that vaporized around let him know that the Splicer wasn't an issue anymore. Easy.

Across the short excursion of mud and filth that spanned two dock-like structures of the Lower Wharf, more Splicers were approaching from the side opposite of where he stood. Jack watched as they immediately opened fire on the Daddy, prompting another enraged roar. He would have stepped in to help, but immediately stepped back when the Daddy pulled up its gun, firing large… were those fucking rivets! Jack watched with his mouth half opened as the impromptu weapon tore apart one Splicer before the Daddy reached back and pulled out a small, green glowing sphere before chucking it. The Splicer walked right into it.

 _Boom!_

Jack swallowed audibly as he looked between the Daddy and the retreating Splicers. _'It has a rivet gun. And explosives.'_ "I don't get paid enough for this shit," he chuckled weakly, observing the large metal man like it was the deadliest foe he'd encountered. So far, it was looking like it… well, maybe. He was potentially being stalked by the first Splicer he encountered in Rapture… so… he'd find out eventually.

While he'd assumed it would share similarities with the Drill Daddy, this was… just… NOOOO! It was unfair just how shit-out-of-luck he was right now. He stomped his foot with a huff.

"Oh hello," he stated aloud, even as he made to go again. Distractions, distractions. In the middle of all that filth, right next to where the Little Sister was draining the ADAM from some dead body like she hadn't just survived an attempt on her life, was a glowing blue bottle. Plasmid? "Dud"? Which one? Which one?

He groaned, his hand unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck in exasperation. "Well, I gotta get the girl anyway. But I could just come back later."

 _'Rule of survival: grab anything essential.'_

"It's just a bottle."

 _'And yet, the compilation of power has kept us from dying frequently. So get to it. Grab the girl. Grab the bottle. Easy.'_

"Easy. Ri-ight." Had his brain not been paying attention recently?

But, he couldn't argue with that. He sighed, already looking around for things he could use to turn this fight to his advantage. It was his ears that caught the first advantage: a nearby turret. And by "nearby" that meant under his feet. He took the ramp down into the disgusting mud below, kicking up wood debris and old planks along with it. If the smell was anything to go by, it wasn't just mud, but an assortment of rotting something or other. If he had to guess, probably fish guts and stale saltwater; every step he took breaking the fine surface that otherwise kept it masked. Ducking down under the wharf with a dizzying headshake, he moved around the support beams, almost instantly spotting the turret. Zap and hack. It was his before it had even discovered he was there.

Across the Lower Wharf – if his noxious fume clouded eyes weren't mistaken – underneath the opposite dock, was another turret. Between him and that, was the Daddy and Sister. The Daddy's were already hard enough without having to divide his attention between that and defending from an unholy hail of bullets.

He squelched through the mud, moving carefully along the wall as he did his best not to cause alarm to either the little girl or her metal guardian. The Rivet Daddy's foremost porthole watched him carefully, one hand poised on its gun just to let him know that it was armed and dangerous.

Jack ignored it as best as he could though as he hid behind cross-patterned metal flooring, just in front of his prize. And just away from the eye of the other turret. He peered out from around the corner of his shelter, hoping that the ramp ahead was out of the line of fire. He took one breath. Then two.

The sickening mud squelched as he did his best to run without tripping, which looked more like high-kneed hopping as he moved as fast as possible to prevent from getting shot. Up the ramp, and along the broken dock, Jack took another deep breath… mostly for what he was about to do. He jumped down, landing with a splash of vile as Electro Bolt shot out, hitting its mark quickly. Hacking was no issue. However, he noticed some other items around him in the muck, including another recording. _'Might as well gather them up while I'm listening,'_ he thought before sniveling slightly. _'_ After _I clean them off.'_ So he went to work while he pressed play.

Sullivan "Bathysphere Keys": " _We're putting all the bathysphere in lockdown until further notice. Ryan had us install some kinda genetic device into the things so only Ryan and his inner circle will be able to use 'em without dispensation. But the boys tell me the keys are pretty unreliable. Sisters, cousins; anybody in the ballpark genetically will be able to come and go as they see fit._ "

Jack emptied a shotgun in the mud, found an EVE Hypo (he'd double clean that if he was gonna have to stick himself with it, no Incinerate sparred), Tommy rounds, and a First-Aid Kit; all around the turret. The diary however had him frowning within a few moments. Atlas wasn't kidding when he asked if Jack had some relatives that disappeared. It would be the only reasonable explanation as to why Jack was able to use the Bathysphere with no issue. "Great. Just great. Some relative I don't even know was part of this sick-fuck city." Not his shiniest moment down here.

Thoroughly put out, and more than a little miffed, Jack walked back up the ramp as he checked his weapons. He had very little in the way of Armor-Piercing, a fact he admitted he might have to rectify, but he made sure to keep an eye on his surroundings as he began loading up the Tommy rounds he'd collected into magazines. No one attacked, and Jack got to observe the Big Daddy's combat as a few more Splicers decided to try their luck. Suffice to say, more bodies for him to loot.

After filling four full magazines of Tommy, and making sure his shotgun was loaded and secure to his bag, Jack did a smart thing and lightened his load, jumping back down into the muck to set his suitcase next to the turret near the broken dock. With a soft sigh of resignation, Jack countered his "smart thing" with a "stupid thing".

His forehead tensed with Telekinesis.

 _'No drill engine. Rivet gun doesn't appear to be connected to anything. Self-sufficient firing system? And the disc under the air supply tank… grenade dispensary maybe? One big oxygen tank?'_ At that, the barest formulations of a plan were formed. And by barest, it was more like the ground-break of a plan. Ah fuck it! He had nothing!

Big Daddy or not, for all intents and purposes, this was a new enemy. Unfortunately, Jack didn't know a lot about Big Daddies from a mechanical stand-point. They were armored, had some counter-measures – probably from previous attempts to exploit – but this one had one glaring defect: the hose that connected to its oxygen supply.

As much as Jack hated the new method he'd just developed, he couldn't think of another way to distract the Daddy long-term. He switched out to his pistol, waiting until the Big Daddy was distracted with his Little Sister before firing. He aimed right at the tubing near its helmet, hoping to cause the Daddy to panic for a few precious seconds. It was a sure shot.

 _BANG!_

 _PTING!_

Or not.

The Daddy just had to turn as Jack was firing, clipping him right in the helmet. It roared in outrage, immediately swinging its gun on Jack.

 _'SHIELD!'_ Jack threw up his hand, grabbing the nearest corpse and forcing it in front of him to act as a… literal meat-shield… letting the body take the full-force of the shots. His free hand pulled up his Tommy, making sure to close distance as he steadied his aim on its head and fired from behind his impromptu shield. This Daddy clearly specialized at a range. Remove the range, deal with the threat.

Or so he thought.

About five yards from it, the Daddy pulled out another of his grenades, and Jack didn't have time to switch stratagems, much less dodge. Jack tossed the meat-sack toward the bomb, causing it to detonate prematurely. The blast was too close and unobstructed, sending Jack flying until he landed with a soft _Squelch!_ in the "mud".

Huffing in surprise and exertion, he rolled over, knowing better than to sit still by now. He sat up, preparing to fire before realizing that his Tommy had mud in the barrel. All his guns had mud in their barrels. And how was a wrench supposed to help? "Shit!" The Daddy was already firing more rivets as Jack continued to roll away from the shots until he was situated behind some metal flooring. Luckily, getting hit by the explosion meant his turrets were activated. He had cover fire this time.

He had to change gears. He could already hear the Daddy stomping angrily in the mud as bullets continued to hit its armor. He didn't have time to contemplate! What did he have on him?! He flicked some of the mud away from his hand, now covered in the slop.

The mud. The mud was everywhere.

Jack looked down at his dirtied hand before plunging it into the mud, bringing up a cake of the sludge. Just the texture almost made him vomit, but he let the bile stir as he projected Telekinesis over it. The slop slowly rose… sorta. It was falling apart, just like it was in his hands. He didn't need extra hands though, he needed… a container.

The footsteps were so close, Jack could smell the rot it was churning up. He bolted out into the Daddy's line of sight, shocking the beast with his brazenly forward approach. Jack's hand tensing as he heaved upward like he was scooping and throwing underhanded, containing up as much of the mud as he could while chucking it. A small wave of the sludge splattered into the Daddy… and covered its view ports.

 _'I am an unfortunate genius!'_ he cheered to himself.

The Daddy flailed around for a moment before it began wiping at its viewports, causing them to smudge with filth. As it drew back its empty hand from its head, Jack pulled with his power, trying to disbalance it. It stumbled for a moment, and that was all Jack needed to switch up the attack, pulling its rivet gun from its hands.

The weapon was his in an instant as he turned the weapon on the Big Daddy. "Wait? How do you fire this thing?!" He fumbled for a moment before he found the lever near the barrel, the size of the weapon not meant for average sized human hands, and neither was the kick-back.

The gun jerked out of his hands as it shot, landing with a _splat_ in the mud. He winced and hissed at where the weapon had kicked into his arm, a sweet line of red agitated skin now appearing underneath all the mud he was covered in. Now he was empty handed.

Right! Fight to the death!

The Daddy, still effectively blind, reached behind it and produced another glowing green grenade, tossing at its feet. Jack waited for it to explode, but all it did was blink a red light as the Daddy continued to wipe at its visors. Jack didn't trust it, lifting the "clearly a trap" grenade and lobbing it at the Daddy. It just stuck to its armor, but he had nothing to detonate it with.

He felt something hit his shin, and he looked down, seeing the Little Sister kicking him. " _You leave Mister B alone you big meanie!_ " she snapped, kicking him again. Not knowing what else to do, he picked her up, fighting her protests and hits as he climbed the ramp leading back to the beginning of Neptune's Bounty. " _No! Nonono! Let me go!_ "

Big Daddy moaned, fumbling toward them by the sound of her voice alone, still half-blinded. Either by some misfortune to Jack, or fortune to the Daddy (same thing at this point really), it stumbled under the falls of a leaky pipe in the center of the Lower Wharf, the grime slowly washing away.

"Fuck!" Jack hissed, cradling the Sister with one hand as she rested on his hip, while trying to figure out what to do next.

The Little Sister stopped her minuscule assault against his chest with her tiny fists, yellow eyes widening in horrified shock. " _You said a bad word._ "

 _'Really? Really?!'_ Jack didn't have a Plan B. He didn't even have a Plan A! The Big Daddies were great at screwing any plans he had. He sent a _zap!_ into the puddle at the Daddy's feet, hoping to temporarily slow it down. He looked for anything… Anything! …that could help him finish off the Daddy quickly.

 _'What about those red barrels?!'_

 _'What_ about _those red barrels?!'_ he snapped back in his head. _'Oh.'_

Telekinesis hovered one of the barrels in front of him, the distinct smell of fuel curling in his nose as he took his aim. And just in time. He lobbed it as the Daddy finally cleared its vision, the metal drum bending as it ruptured all over the behemoth. In an instant, it exploded.

Jack instinctively turned, covering the Little Sister as best as he could, holding her tightly as the planted grenade and the barrel (evidently filled with an extremely volatile substance and not just normal fuel; Fucking Rapture!) made for a glorious _ka-boom!_ that shook the Lower Wharf, and probably other parts of Neptune's Bounty as well. Hopefully, he didn't just cause Rapture to spring another leak.

He breathed, half-expecting to feel shrapnel imbed into him, but he didn't even feel the heat. Just the concussion. He turned around, looking back toward the Daddy. Between him and the explosion was a sheet of the metal flooring; dented – and in some cases, pierced – where pieces of the barrel had hit. To his surprise, it was floating; and he could feel his connection to it through Telekinesis.

He half-chuckled before realizing that his head now hurt like a bitch and his nose was leaking blood. Great. He just overused his Plasmid again, and the backlash sucked.

A whimper redrew his attention down to the quivering little ghoul in his arms, feeling his chest clench a little at her trembling. "You okay?"

Her head shot up to look at him, clearly surprised that he wasn't attacking her, but more importantly, that he was asking something like that. Clearly, "Bad Men" didn't ask that question.

"Hey, you okay?" he repeated, just a little more irritated.

Jack felt a large hand encompass his face, forcing him to drop the girl as he was heaved and tossed. He slid into the mud with a flash of color dancing around his eyes, reds bleeding into black spots that drew a wheeze from his lack of breath. _'F-F-Fuck,'_ he gurgled to himself, trying not to inhale the blood dripping back down his throat. _'When were Big Daddies_ that _stealthy?'_

He was vaguely aware of the Daddy stomping back over to finish him off, coughing blood and spittle all over his chin as he finally regained his breath. The tin man didn't look much better. Its suit was compromised; shrapnel metal from the barrel impeded into its armor, some of those punctures dripping some strange fluid. The Rivet Daddy groaned, clearly feeling worse than Jack looked, before it bent down, and grabbed Jack by the head again. It cocked back, preparing to slam his head into the ground, presumably until he stopped twitching.

 _'This is how I go,'_ he mused, glad he was able to at least put up a decent fight. Still, he had one… maybe three… more left in him. He reached out, Telekinesis drawing the sharpest tool he had to his hand before he jammed it into the Daddy's hose with one hand, and grabbing onto some of the embedded shrapnel with the other. Electro Bolt flared to life, the access sparks humming as their tendrils already sought out the metal fractures, as though they already understood their Storm's intent.

Blue crackling erupted into and around the Daddy as Jack pulled, ripping his scalpel from the hose with a _hiss!_ while simultaneously sending electricity dancing straight into its suit through the metal shrapnel, sending up smoke and the smell of something sizzling. Jack was dropped, barely landing on his feet before he collapsed, knees already sinking into the muck. God he was tired, but the Daddy was more stubborn than he gave it credit. It was already recovering from the shock, now fumbling with the hose as it tried to grasp it with its oversized hands, moaning deeply in panic.

 _'Care for an experiment?'_ he wondered to himself.

"What kind of experiment?" he asked back, backing up as best as he could while the Daddy flailed.

 _'What does flame plus compressed air gases equal?'_ Fucking chemistry basics. Why was high school only coming back to him in Rapture? Not that he could remember much of it anyway.

Wait. Why would a rural town high school teach chemistry?

Jack brought his fingers together as his Plasmid switched to Incinerate. "One big blow torch," he answered. "Or my personal favorite, an earth-shattering…." He _Snap!_ ped. To put simply–

 _Ka-boom!_

The oxygen ignited, burning a swift trail through the hosing, before combusting in the Daddy's helmet and tank. The cold compressed gases, now superheated to expansion, exploded… along with any remaining grenades it possessed.

Jack didn't have time to sing his own praises when he was bodied by the full weight of the propelled Big Daddy. He gagged and coughed, his air suddenly in short supply from the impact. He crashed into the slurch, pinned under the massive dive suit several inches sunk into the mud.

It felt like mud was trying to suck him back down into the mire as he rolled the metal behemoth off on him, biting his tongue to withhold the curses he felt crawling up his throat. Just like with the last Big Daddy he took down, he was pretty sure he cracked something that wasn't meant to be cracked. And his scalpel was gone, buried somewhere underneath the mire. _'Ugh!'_ Not exactly his day.

" _Mister B?_ "

Jack crawled away before turning to look back at the Little Sister. "Don't mind him," Jack scoffed, wincing again. Why was it his ribs that got hurt? It made it that much harder to breathe. _'I suppose, if I can complain about it, I'm fine.'_ Besides, his headache hurt more. Luckily, there was a Health Station next to the vent.

The Little Sister looked up and glared at him. Evidently, they weren't all timid, scared little girls. Some of them were real spitfires. And this one was scooping up a ball of mud to throw at him. " _What did you do to Mister B?!_ " She threw the sludge before letting him answer properly, missing by a mile, but causing Jack to duck out of reflex, straining his sore sides.

"Damn it, kid! I made him an angel!" he snapped giving his own little glare back. He slowly pushed himself to his feet. Something about fighting Big Daddy's just shouted "Exhausted!". He absently walked over to the pouring leak in the middle of the Wharf, shivering as he stepped under the freezing water. He activated Incinerate in his veins, trying to keep a semblance of warm as he washed the guck that had clogged itself from his follicles to his shoes. He felt sick in his own trousers, and that was saying a lot. Where was a clothing store when you needed one? He looked down at his nearly destroyed undershirt, scoffing at the splotches of mud it was riddled with. "I'm definitely gonna need more than a dry-cleaners."

At that, an idea popped into his head, prompting him to switch to Telekinesis. His head hurt, and his nose hadn't stopped bleeding, but he was curious. If it could pick up something the consistency of mud, based on the basest of mentally projected shapes, then….

He reached up and closed his eyes, mimicking the Splicer he had killed right after getting the Wrench Jockey Tonic in the Medical Pavilion (not that he knew what Tonic that had been), not focusing solely on the water itself, but on everything around it. If it was about mind-over-matter, then anything the mind could imagine, so it could form. Eventually, he stopped feeling the water.

Opening his eyes, he smiled. The water was streaming much slower, trailing around his arm as it flowed down, eventually wrapping around his back, and up the other arm.

"Oh. Yeah," Jack smirked, slowly feeling his focus falter until the water began to fall normally again. Electro Bolt may have been his first Plasmid, but Telekinesis was easily becoming his favorite… although he supposed his favoritism was circumstantial. It was easily his most versatile Plasmid.

He readjusted the idea he had in mind, letting Telekinesis force the water to slither over him, coiling through his clothing, washing through the fibers, slowly but surely sifting the grime off his body. While the fabrics were probably permanently stained, it was almost refreshing to see the water visibly dirty and stream to the ground.

But throughout it, Jack didn't take the time to enjoy it. The last time he enjoyed the feeling of getting clean, he was brained in the back of the head. This time, he let the cold sharpen his senses, hitting him with a second wind he didn't know he needed. Now, if only he could get some sustenance. He was feeling peckish after getting kicked to the curb. Didn't he have some potato chips?

" _What are you doing?_ " The Sister was watching him with the utmost curiosity, her former Big Daddy forgotten. Cruel… but that was Rapture's way. She wouldn't have survived so long if she was attached to only one Big Daddy.

"I'm dirty," he stated simply, shivering before stepping away from the leak, slicking his wet-darkened hair back. He quickly pulled up his weapons, using the same method of cleaning himself to clean out his weapons as he used Telekinesis and water to clean out the bores. This was Rapture. If they weren't waterproofed in some way or other, then Jack was going to be going through _a lot_ of weapons. His satchel needed cleaning out too. He'd actually need to sort through it to make sure that his bounty of needle-infested items weren't beyond using. It would suck to have collected all of that, just to turn around and throw it away so he didn't get sepsis, gangrene, or a plethora of other disgusting diseases from a dirty needle.

He ended his impromptu cleaning at the sounds of Splicer activity, flaring Incinerate to dry his clothing while he flicked the last of the mud away. He quickly went over to pick up the blue Plasmid bottle he'd come for, along with the Med-Kit right next to it before turning back around. The Little Sister backed away at his approach on the dock, eyeing him suspiciously. Funny how she wasn't crying for a new Big Daddy to come and rescue her.

Jack didn't think too much on it. If he tried to understand, chances are, he was a few ounces short of a full thermos of coffee. Instead he knelt and offered her his hand and a begrudging smile, but it was more of a grimace with how his sides were fairing. "C'mon kid. Momma Tenenbaum sent me to get you," he stated. She perked up at that, but still looked at Jack suspiciously. _'Smart kid.'_ "Here…." He rolled his eyes before exposing his wrists, showing off his tattoos after turning off his Plasmids. That did the trick last time. "… I'm Jack."

" _Jack?_ " She looked at his tattoos again, before that same look entered her eye as the last Little Sister he'd freed. " _Oh! Are you Big Brother?_ "

Jack slumped in defeat. _'At least she didn't think I was Mister Bubbles. Note-to-Self: Lead with being Big Brother.'_ "Sure kid. Big Brother Jack." The way her eyes lit up said that the name was probably going to stick from here on out.

She smiled her little ghoulish smile at him. " _Let's go then. We'll go find Momma Ten-baum_." She pulled on his hand, waiting for him to stand to his feet before reaching up to him. " _Uppsy!_ " she exclaimed, reaching to be picked up.

Unfortunately for her, Jack had to shake his head. "Big Brother got an ouchie while making Mister B an angel." She frowned in disappointment, but quickly brightened back up when Jack held her hand.

Were kids supposed to be this fidgety? Jack didn't remember being like that. It was all of twenty feet – if that – to the nearest vent back down the hall he'd come. Yet here she was, skipping with her little brown braids flopping up and down like they had all the time in the world.

While she was busy being a little ghoul girl, Jack picked up his radio. "Hey Tenenbaum, you there?"

He waited a moment. Then two. Then– _"Yes Herr Jack. I am here."_ Good, she was still present.

"I've got another Sister. I'm sending her through the vent between Neptune's Bathysphere Station and the Lower Wharf. Can you make sure that she gets someplace safe?"

He could practically hear her smile on the other end. _"Of course. I will let one of my girls meet you there."_

Jack's ears perked when he heard a cackle, bristling at the sound. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Gre-at. A Splicer openly looking for him.

"Are you sure we should mess with 'im?" he just took down a Big Daddy all by 'imself." That's two.

"The little fish was holding his sides. Daddy must've clipped him good." That's thr– … Wait… "little fish"? … Oh shit. He fucking hated reunions.

"And did ya see what 'e did with 'is Plasmids? Blimey is wha' it was. I betcha 'e's got a lot of ADAM on 'im ta do all tha'."

Jack didn't listen for any more Splicers, immediately nestled the radio between his shoulder and cheek, the calm white light of his "Cure Little Sister" Plasmid streaming to life as fast as possible. "Best hurry up that timetable Doc. I got Splicers incoming, and I don't have time to wait. I'm curing the Sister now."

 _"Very well, Herr Jack. And be careful."_

"It's not me you gotta worry about," he answered in finality, looking down at his yellow eyed charge. "Alright, we're going to get you into the vent. No matter what happens, you wait in there for another little girl sent by Momma Ten-baum, okay?"

The Little Sister nodded, looking notably more on edge. Jack gently squeezed her hand in reassurance, even as he watched the Plasmid slowly make its way through her little arm. He held on as long as he felt comfortable before the Splicers sounded to close for comfort. Jack didn't waste another moment as he lifted the little girl to the vent, carefully helping her up even as she groaned in discomfort. Somehow, she managed to find the strength to pull herself up and in, just as the rising door _ka-chunk_ ed open, revealing the Splicers in question.

"He's got the girl!" "Get 'im!" "Who's that 'e's talkin' ta?!" There was definitely more than three.

Jack let the radio fall from his shoulder as he lunged across the hall, digging into his back pocket to pull out his wallet for the Health Station. His other lifted his shotgun, and the satchel it was attached to, turning the corner to fire off. One Splicer learned what lead tasted like.

Jack finally dug out his wallet, doing his best to open it one-handed before snagging a bill from the top, letting his wallet fall to the ground... and through the grated steps to the floor below. Fuck! He'd deal with it later. He fed the bill to the Station, trying to hurry this up as he swung back around the corner and shot again, taking another Splicer's knees out, but not without taking some fire in return. He felt one bullet slam into his arm, and another into his calf, causing him to teeter into the exposed hallway floor with a cry of pain.

 _'Just gotta get to the Station,'_ he thought, baring his teeth.

"Big Brother?!" His eyes shot up to the vent, peering at the calf brown looking back at him, and he could tell the Splicers were doing the same thing.

"No!" he shouted, Incinerate _snap_ ping as another Splicer was consumed by flames. "Go back inside! Wait for Momma Ten-baum!" he ordered, taking another pained potshot at the Splicers. There was a lot more than three. It reminded Jack of a small pack of coyote's on Pap's land. Fucking varmint scavengers, the lot of them; just like these Splicers. Maybe it was a hunting party to take down the Big Daddy. _'Fucking hell.'_ And he'd almost given them their "prize".

The Splicer's had enough of testing the waters, and decided to charge. Jack could only deal with so many at once from his prone position, but thankfully it was enough time for the former Sister to retreat back into the vent. She'd be safe at least. Jack got off one more shot before his chamber _click_ ed from an empty magazine, and he quickly grit his teeth as he let off another _snap_. The flames were a welcome source of light before it was overshadowed with the bastards.

One clubbed him over the head with a piece of broken pipe, causing his hearing to ring in a daze as a burst of flame erupted from around him, causing more Splicers to burn. Yes. If they kept this up, death would be a sweet reminder that he would be back. Of course, they didn't know that if the half-deliriously trained guns on him were any indication.

"Don't kill 'im!"

 _'Wait? What? Yes, kill me!'_ Wow! Jack never thought he'd be thinking that.

"But we kill 'im, we take his ADAM."

Jack saw one Splicer cuff the other. "You twat! Weren'' ya payin' attention?! 'E works for Tenenbaum…."

 _'"Work" is a little strong. I prefer the term "conditional partnership" that's looking super one-sided right now,'_ Jack thought as he tried to blink back some clarity.

"…Tha' means 'e knows were the German broad hides all those little girls…," the Splicer continued.

If Jack was hearing this right, and he was sure that he was, he was not liking where this was going at all.

The rest of the little pack were catching on. "…And all their precious little ADAM," the other Splicer stated with a grim, cheek-splitting smile that made Jack want to hurl. It turned to Jack before frowning. "But how do we split the ADAM?"

"We'll worry about that when it comes to it," the Splicer responded manically, cackling slightly. "For now, we gotta make sure 'e tells us the truth. We'll find out where all those tasty little treats are."

Jack felt the rupture of another wave of fire leave him as he was smashed into the head again, but it didn't matter this time as he felt the black swallow him whole.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** **Would You Kindly Read & Review! :)**

Yes! Yes I did just do that!

First off, I needed (like really _needed_ ) the Luteces to appear again. It's always fun bringing them into play, but there's also something... therapeutic about reading them go at it. Suffice to say, I enjoyed writing their bits.

The Gene Bank was very similar to the Gatherer's Garden, just a little different though, since the game makes it so much fun to try and create an interpretation (not sarcastic at all). The Gene Bank also utilizes the Genetic Key, since it made no sense to me how Rapture knew to keep track of who was getting Spliced with what. With the Genetic Key, it was a lot easier for it to be kept track of (also explains why no Splicers are using it since no one has their Genetic Key's any more) and recorded.

I did things a little differently with Jack's Plasmids and Gene Tonics. I took a more Bioshock 2 approach. Being limited to a number of Physical, Engineering, and Combat Tonics just... _grrr_. I liked Bioshock 2's approach, since it didn't limit Delta's personal customization, but rather, gave it a heavy focus on personal preference and play-style, things I enjoyed in the game. I saw no reason it couldn't (and shouldn't) be the same for Jack. And then there was that uber unlabeled Gene Tonic ;)

Yes. Familiar Splicers are returning... right up until they need their heads bashed in. It's a two-in-one special.

Writing the Rosie Big Daddy fight was a little harder than I expected. For one, I had to look over a Rosie model so many times, literally looking for any weakness to exploit! It was a long process, but I eventually found it, and I gotta say, it makes for some interesting maneuvering. Jack didn't die again during the fight. Mostly stark luck, and an agile mindset for Jack; making splendid use of his Telekinesis, and on-hand weaponry, even with his guns getting clogged. The Rosie is more armored than the Bouncer (at least as far as game stats), moves slower, but makes up for it at medium to long-ranged attacks. The giant tank on it's back is armored, protecting it from surprise attacks, but the glaring weakness (its hoses, something not found on Bouncers) is harder to get to thanks to its preference of ranged combat. Because of its ranged combat, it also makes it harder to combat it as such with fire and return fire (ergo, lots of dodging). Plus, them rivets are HUGE!

And yes, Splicers form hunting parties. While I don't believe they are actually cohesive as a large group, Splicer's don't have any other way other than shear numbers to combat a Big Daddy and overwhelm it. And yes, some Splicer's are smarter than they appear, if not absolutely crazy; they wouldn't be smart enough to group up if they weren't.

Take care, and don't forget to Review! Let me know your Questions, Comments, and Concerns (QCC) :)

Until next time. Possibly to be called _Chapter 7: Water Off a Duck's Back_ or _A Pinch of Salt_. (No idea if either of these will be the chapter name, but its something I'm still considering)


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